Under the Net

by Iris Murdoch

  ‘Now then!’ said one of them.

  I strode resolutely on, and when I was close to them I cried out, in tones of urgency, ‘The dog’s hurt! I must find a vet! There’s one just down the road.’

  I was in mortal terror all this time lest Mars should tire of the game. He must have been extremely uncomfortable hanging there with the bones of my shoulder pressing into his stomach. But he endured. The policeman hesitated.

  ‘I must get him attended to at once!’ I repeated.

  A cross murmur began to rise from the crowd. ‘Let the poor chap out to get his dog looked after!’ said someone, and this seemed to express the general sentiment.

  ‘Oh, all right, out you go!’ said the policeman.

  I walked through the gates. The crowd parted with respectful and sympathetic remarks. As soon as I was clear of them and saw in front of me the wide open expanse of New Cross Road, unenclosed and empty of police, I could bear it no longer.

  ‘Wake up! Live dog!’ I said to Mars; as I knelt down he sprang from my shoulder, and together we set off down the road at full pelt. Behind us, diminishing now in the distance, there arose an immense roar of laughter.

  Thirteen

  IT was hours later, or so it seemed to my feet, and we were still walking along the Old Kent Road. It was some time now since my triumph at having escaped so cleverly had given place to dejection at finding that I had no money and that there was nothing for it but to keep on walking northward. There had been a moment when I had thought of taking a taxi and making Dave pay at the other end, and the reflection that Dave had already paid for one taxi for me that evening and might have no more ready cash would not have deterred me had I been able to find a taxi; but to those southern wastes the cruising taxi never comes and it was long since I had dismissed this as a hopeless vision. I would have telephoned for help, only I had already foolishly spent my last pence on a copy of the Independent Socialist, the next day’s edition of which was already being sold to the crowd coming out of a cinema. The paper carried a report of the meeting at Bounty Belfounder and some pictures of the fight. A dramatic photograph of me and Mars coming out of the main gate was captioned: A Canine Victim of Police Brutality. The pubs had been shut for a considerable time and the road was deserted. The cinema crowd had been the last sign of life. Even Mars looked dejected; his head and tail drooped and he followed along at my heels by scent alone, never raising his eyes. Perhaps he was hungry. I certainly was. I thought sadly of the pork chop which we had left behind on Sammy’s stairs. Maxim: never tread under foot the food which you can put in your pocket.

  It was well after midnight when we were trudging across Waterloo Bridge. I had the impression that I had had an extremely long day; and when we reached the north side of the bridge it was clear to me that I could go no farther. It was another cloudless night, with air like warm milk, and we stood for a while looking at the river, not to admire its beauty but because it was necessary to stand still. My feet felt as if they had suffered centuries of attrition, and my body was present to me in a variety of aches and pains which made the external world almost invisible. Then Mars and I jolted wearily down the steps.

  If you have ever tried to sleep on the Victoria Embankment you will know that the chief difficulty is that the seats are divided in the middle. An iron arm-rest in the centre makes it impossible to stretch oneself out. I am not sure whether this is an accidental phenomenon or whether it forms part of an L.C.C. campaign against vagrancy. In any case it is very inconvenient. Various systems are possible. One may try to use the arm-rest as a pillow, or one may lie with one’s knees raised over it and one’s feet on the other side. Or again one may resign oneself to curling up on one half of the seat. This is a very cramped position even for someone as short as myself; but if one is a restless sleeper, as I am, this is probably the best method, and it was this that I chose. Before reposing I wrapped the pages of the Independent Socialist carefully round my legs, and tied them into position with my tie and my handkerchief. Newspaper is a good insulator, as every vagabond knows. I only wished I could have afforded two copies. Then I lay down. Mars got up on to the other half of the seat. We slept.

  I awoke and it was still night. The stars seemed to have moved a long way. I was feeling stiff with cold. Then Big Ben struck three. Only three! I groaned. I lay for a while in an agony of stiffness. I tried chafing my limbs, but the effort to do so was so painful that it hardly justified the results. I sat up feeling totally miserable. Then I thought of Mars. He was still there, sleeping soundly and snoring gently as he slept. Shivering and solitary I sat looking at him, while on either side the deserted pavements stretched away under lofty street lamps which lit a lurid green in the motionless leaves of plane trees and revealed below them the rows of empty seats each one as uncomfortable as ours. Naked as a bridge in a picture on which no one will ever tread, Waterloo Bridge brooded over the river. I stood up and the blood ran thick and painful into my feet.

  Mars was an image of Sleep. At first I just felt annoyed that he should be sleeping so peacefully while I was awake and cold. Then I began to remember stories of men in lifeboats who had been saved by being kept warm by faithful dogs. Indeed I’m not sure that I didn’t get this idea from one of Mars’s films. With some difficulty I wakened Mars and made him move up sufficiently for me to lie beside him. It was true. His body was radiantly warm from nose to tail. For a while we shifted about, trying to find a position which suited us both. At last we settled down with my face thrust into the loose fur of Mars’s throat and his hind legs curled into my stomach. He licked my nose. It must have been like licking a block of ice. I stretched out a random hand and drew it over his head. Out of his ears it would have been no hard task to have made silk purses. And as I fell asleep I was remembering how much in my childhood I had wanted to have a dog and how thoroughly my elders had made me feel this wish to be extravagant and unseemly until it had faded sadly into a secret dream, and been replaced in about my ninth year by an equally profound yearning to be the owner of an Aston Martin.

  The police moved us on at about six a.m. This is the hour when, for some reason, one begins to be a menace to law and order. These things I learnt in days when I was even less successful than I am now. After a rest in Trafalgar Square, which is another place where the police don’t like one to lie down, Mars and I presented ourselves at Mrs Tinckharn’s shop just as it was opening. There, under the scandalized gaze of half a dozen arched and prickling cats, the hero of Five in a flood consumed a large bowl of milk, and I borrowed a pound. Finn opened the door for me at Goldhawk Road and led me straight to the bed which he had vacated. I slept again for a long time.

  I woke up and it was the afternoon. I woke with a dull and oppressed consciousness, as when a holiday is over and there is an accumulated pile of work waiting to be done. I pulled myself out of bed. It was raining. I stared for a while at this phenomenon. Changes of weather always take me by surprise, nor can I when the climate is set one way at all bring to my imagination what it is like for it to be set the other. I had quite forgotten about rain. I opened the window. Then for about four minutes I did some diaphragmatic breathing. To do this one opens the lungs to their fullest extent, placing the hands on the lower ribs and slowly expanding the diaphragm; one holds the breath while counting eight at moderate speed and then releases it quietly through the mouth with a low hissing sound. It is unwise to do this for too long as it may induce unconsciousness. I was taught diaphragmatic breathing by a Japanese who claimed that it had transformed his life, and although I cannot say that it has transformed mine, I can recommend it as being harmless and conceivably beneficial, particularly for someone who is as suggestible as I am.

  I got dressed and put my head cautiously round the door to look for Finn. I was in no hurry to confront Dave, who I feared might have some heavy remarks to make about the Mars episode. Finn, who had heard me getting up, was hovering about and came at once. I asked him if he would go and buy some horse meat for Mars, bu
t it turned out that he had already done this. Finn doesn’t like dogs, but he is a considerate man. Then he handed me a bunch of letters. The only one of these which was of any interest from the point of view of the present story was one which contained a cheque for six hundred and thirty-three pounds ten. For a moment or two I stared at the cheque in bewilderment, wondering who could have made such an odd mistake. Then I drew out of the envelope a typewritten sheet on which were listed the names: Little Grange, Peter of Alex, Hal Adair, Dagenham, Saint Cross, Queen’s Rook. They were like names out of history. At the foot of the statement Sammy had written — Yau put it down and you pick it up ! I Suggest you back Lyrebird next time out. I blushed. When Finn saw me blushing he left the room. Perhaps he thought I had a letter from Anna. But there was no letter from Anna.

  Sammy’s honourable behaviour put me in a fever to settle the question of Mars. I strode at once into the living-room, where Dave was sitting at the typewriter and Finn was leaning thoughtfully in the doorway. Dave was writing an article for Mind on the incongruity of counterparts. He had been working for some time on this article, which he wrote sitting in front of a mirror, and alternately staring at his reflection and examining his two hands. He had several times tried to explain to me his solution, but I had not yet got as far as grasping the problem. He stopped tapping as I came in and looked at me from under his eyebrows. Finn sat down unostentatiously, like someone taking his place at the back of the court. Mars, who had been lying on the rug, gave me an ecstatic welcome. When this was over I led off quickly.

  ‘Perhaps it was a bad idea,’ I said, ‘but the question is, what to do now. I want you and Finn to help me to write a letter.’

  Dave stretched out his legs. I could see he was not going to be hurried into omitting anything. ‘How you are an amateur, Jake!’ he said.

  I thought this was just a bit unkind. ‘Let us be practical,’ I said. ‘The first thing, I suppose, is to let Starfield know in whose hands Mars is and for what purpose he was taken. It seems pointless to conceal our identity. Sammy would guess it anyway as soon as we announced our terms.’

  ‘In answer to that,’ said Dave, ‘I have two observations. Primo, that I do not like this use of we. I am not a thief of this dog. Secundo, that naturally Finn and I have already informed Starfield by telephone of the identity of the kidnapper.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked him, amazed.

  ‘Because,’ said Dave, ‘as should be obvious to a blackmailer of even mediocre ability, it was advisable that Starfield should if possible be prevented from alerting the police. That our information in fact restrained him from doing so is suggested by the fact that you are still at large. I notice that you took the trouble to get your picture into all the papers.’

  I sat down. When I saw how much Dave relished my predicament I lost the misgivings which I had been beginning to have about inconveniencing him by my antics.

  ‘I appreciate your concern for me,’ I said coolly. ‘You overlook the fact that this premature revelation makes it pointless for me to spring on Sammy the proposal to exchange Mars for the typescript. By now Sammy could have had the thing photostated a hundred times over.’

  ‘You are naive,’ said Dave. ‘Can you imagine that he would not have done it already? For one like Starfield a thousand typists toil day and night. Not for more than a minute would he let an important document exist in one copy.’

  ‘I’m sure from the way he spoke that there was only one, in the afternoon anyway,’ I said.

  ‘You cannot know,’ said Dave, ‘and in any case what was certain was that the police could lay their hand on you blindfold. When will you learn not to travel in taxis?’

  I didn’t think that I would really have been so easy to catch, but I let that pass. ‘Well, then,’ I said, ‘as a result of your well-meaning move we shall have to modify our proposal. The proposal now is that we exchange Mars, not for the typescript, but for a document guaranteeing me a suitable compensation for its use.’

  ‘You are raving,’ said Dave, ‘and it is clear that you have not thought the thing out at all.’ He pushed his typewriter aside and cleared a space in front of him on the table.

  ‘We must first analyse the situation,’ he said. ‘Let us consider it under two headings: one, what are your powers, and two, how will you use them. It is useless to consider two until you have first considered one, isn’t it? You must be logical, Jake. All right?’

  ‘All right,’ I said. I felt as the victims of Socrates must have felt. It was impossible to hurry the man.

  ‘Under one,’ said Dave, ‘I distinguish two questions: A, how urgently does this Starfield need this dog, and B, how far is this Starfield legally in the wrong about your translation. Now perhaps you can tell us what you know about A?’ Dave looked at me, affecting to expect that I had special information about it.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ I said.

  ‘No idea!’ cried Dave, simulating surprise. ‘So in fact, for all you know, this Starfield may not need the dog for weeks or months? Or perhaps he is not yet sure whether he will use the dog at all?’

  ‘I read in a Gallup poll,’ said Finn, ‘that the public are sick of animal pictures.’

  ‘In any case,’ said Dave, ‘it is not clear that Starfield will be in a hurry. And meanwhile he can afford to let you keep the dog. Think of the money that will save him! How many pounds of meat a day did you say it needed, Finn?’

  ‘One and a half pounds a day,’ said Finn.

  ‘Ten and a half pounds of meat a week,’ said Dave, ‘not counting extras.’

  We all turned and looked at the enormous carnivore. It was fast asleep.

  ‘It ate two pounds today,’ said Finn.

  ‘But at least,’ I said, ‘he’ll be troubled about the welfare of the brute. He’ll want to get it back intact.’

  Dave regarded me with pity. ‘What will you do to frighten him?’ he asked. ‘Cut off its tail? Even if it were not that you are one whose character is written on his face, your Sadie knows you well enough to know that you would not hurt an earthworm let alone a big dog.’

  This was a fact. I was by now beginning to feel myself that my first essay in chantage was turning out rather badly.

  ‘It is of course possible,’ said Dave, ‘that they will want the animal urgently, but it is not certain. So much for A. Now perhaps you could make a statement on B. Did you personally own the translation rights of Breteuil’s books?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ I said, ‘I just made a separate agreement with the publisher for each book.’

  ‘So!’ said Dave, ‘then so far as anyone’s interests are threatened here it is the publisher’s interests and not yours. But let us see what the threat is. What is it?’

  I ran my fingers through my hair. I felt that whatever I said now would sound simple-minded. ‘Look, Dave,’ I said, ‘what has happened is that they have stolen my translation and are showing it to Mr Pringsheim to persuade him to make a film of the book.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Dave, ‘but so far they have not made any other use of the translation. If the thing were published they could buy a copy in the shops.’

  ‘But it’s not published,’ I said, ‘and they pinched my typescript.’

  ‘The felony,’ said Dave, ‘is another question. At any rate it seems that so far there has been no infringement of copyright. This American, who has no French, glances at your translation; that is all. If they decide to make a film they will negotiate the details with whoever owns the film rights, presumably the author.’

  ‘Well, at any rate,’ I said desperately, ‘there was a theft.’

  ‘That’s not so clear,’ said Dave, ‘morally, yes — but could this be shown? Your friend Madge hands this thing to Starfield. Starfield will say that he had no idea that you would mind. Your Madge in the witness box will say the same, together with any details of how well she knew you which the defending counsel can draw out of her.’

  I was imagining this. ‘All right!’ I said. ‘Yes, y
es, yes, all right.’

  ‘Shall I sum up?’ said Dave.

  ‘Go ahead!’ I told him bitterly.

  ‘It is unlikely that they need the dog, anyway in the next few days,’ said Dave. ‘After these days, after this American has seen the book, they will return you politely the typescript and ask for the dog. If you refuse to give him up they go then to the police. What charge could you possibly bring against them? This American will know and care not whose translation he saw. If you press the matter you are lost in a labyrinth. All that is clear is that you stole the dog.’

  ‘But,’ I said, ‘if they are not afraid to have their actions questioned, why is it that they haven’t gone to the police already? Assuming that you’re right in thinking that we’d know it by now if they had.’

  ‘Can you not work that out?’ said Dave with scorn. ‘They are just being kind to you. Starfield might well have the police on you. But your friend Sadie will laugh and say that you are perfectly sweet and so you are let off.’

  This conjecture enraged me the more because I saw at once that it was very likely to be correct. ‘You’ve succeeded in showing that I’m a fool,’ I said. ‘Let’s leave it at that. I’m going out for a walk.’

  ‘But no, Jake,’ said Dave. ‘We have not yet discussed the second heading.’

  ‘I imagined,’ I said, ‘that since it turns out that I have no bargaining power the question of what I am to do with it would not arise.’

  ‘It is not certain that you have no bargaining power,’ said Dave, ‘though I think it very likely that you have none. But you have the dog. And what do you propose to do with him? Send him back to Starfield?’

  ‘Never!’ I cried, ‘so long as there’s any alternative!’

  ‘Well, then,’ said Dave, ‘let us discuss number two.’ He sat there, relaxed and reflective, as if he were giving a seminar, except that there was a very sharp gleam of enjoyment in his eye.