An Unofficial rose

by Iris Murdoch

  He knew, of course, his own absurdity, knew even something of the mechanics of this tiny obsession, and how it had jerked into more evident life when Mildred had suggested the trip to India. Why could he not go to India? Because — yet why because? — of Emma. Emma still, magnetically, existed; and he had time too to reflect on how instinctively he classed her with the dark free things, with that other shapely world of the imagination into which he had failed, and he found himself using Randall's metaphor, to 'climb' at that crucial period of decision twenty-five years ago. But of course these ideas were without worth, cobwebs and mere childish hauntings which he needed only the time for drawing a deep breath to blow. away altogether. He already knew, and he anticipated with pleasure the little struggle he would have with himself, that he would eventually decide to go to India with Mildred. That is what he would do. Ah, he would be free, he would show them all how much an old man could alter. In Vishnuland what avatar.

  'Now, Penny, you really must be off! said Ann. She put aside the blue-and-white check dress of feather-weight cotton which she was sewing for Miranda, pushed her loose loops of faded hair back behind her ears, and made a mock-stern face at Penn. He got up laughing and protesting..

  'Well, well, my friends, I must go too, said Douglas Swann. 'Penn shall set me an example! Weakness of will, that's our trouble, eh Penn? Up and away! He rose too.

  Swann was a good-looking man with a sallow face of great smoothness which seemed not to know of the razor. Into the smooth mask, the colour of honeysuckle, a pair of narrow dark eyes and a thin dry clearly outlined mouth had been let, as it were by an after-thought, so little were they, by any puckering or wrinkling of the surface, worked into their surroundings. His very dark hair, lacquered with hair oil, was combed in a neat crust over his brow. He had, with his rather smart black suit and crisp dog-collar, a professional air of slightly self-conscious benevolence, a sort, as it were, of clinically compassionate stoop. Yet, and this too Hugh had had occasion to remark, although the context for thinking him an ass was almost completely there, the judgement could not quite be made: the elusive but indubitable light of intelligence flickering in that mild visage forbade any too casual dismissal of its owner.

  Penn, tossing his dry mouse-locks, his small perky face animated with argument and affection, was still disputing with Ann, one foot on the coke bucket, one hand in the pocket of his dark grey English purchased flannels, pushing back his blue school blazer to reveal, hanging from his belt by two metal chains, a leather sheath containing a dagger.

  'That's a dangerous weapon! said Douglas Swann, pointing to the dagger.

  Penn blushed and removed his foot from the coke and pulled his blazer down.

  Ann said, 'Good heavens, that German dagger! Did you find it in Steve's room?

  'Yes, said Penn, distressed. 'Is that alright?

  'Why, yes, of course, said Ann. 'But how clever of you to find it.

  Felix Meecham gave it to Steve. Felix got it during the war sometime. And Miranda was very keen on it and kept asking Steve to give it to her, but he never would. Then when — we couldn't find it, though Miranda looked endlessly.

  'Oh, I'll give it to Miranda! said Penn. 'Well, of course, it's hers anyway. I'm so sorry — He was still blushing and trying to detach the dagger from his belt.

  'No, no, certainly not! said Ann. 'You keep it! Miranda's forgotten all about it by now. It's more a boy's thing anyhow. Now off you go, Penny, this very instant!

  The door closed behind him, and Douglas Swann sat down again, having evidently changed his mind about going.

  'I thought it was a horrible thing, that dagger, said Ann. 'It's beautifully made of course, but it's got a swastika on the hilt. Felix said it belonged to a German officer. They used to wear daggers, some of them, to show off with. The whole idea is so repulsive. One never stops loathing Hitler, and the sight of that black object with the swastika on it — it's enough to make one feel quite sick!

  'The young are not touched by this, said Douglas Swann. He was sorting the dominoes into neat piles.

  'No, I suppose not, said Ann. 'It's a rather disconcerting aspect of their innocence. I never know whether one should teach them to hate Hitler or not.

  'Of course one should, said Hugh.

  'I'm not so sure, said Swann. 'There's enough hatred in the world already. Only love has clear vision. Hatred has cloudy vision. When we hate we know not what we do.

  'Are you suggesting that we should love Hitler? said Hugh. He felt irritated with Swann and wished he would go.

  'Not exactly, said Swann. 'That would be, from the point of view of our generation, an impossible task, except perhaps for a saint. But there can be, even for Hitler, a sort of intelligent compassion. Involuntary hatred is a great misfortune, but cultivated hatred is a positive evil. The young have escaped the terrible compulsion to hate which has been our lot. They should be left uncorrupted and judged lucky.

  'I can't agree, said Hugh. 'It's a matter of practical politics. You speak as if we were in fact all saints. As the world runs, evil soon makes tools out of those who don't hate it. Hatred is our best protection.

  ' Would you like some coffee, Douglas, before you go? said Ann. Douglas Swann rose again, accepting his dismissal. 'No thank you, Ann, I must run. Talk about weakness of will! Oh, I forgot to say, Clare wants to know if you're going in for the flower-arrangement competition this year. She said she hoped so much you would, as without you the women get no idea of the standard.

  Ann laughed. 'Perhaps, if I feel strong enough. Give my love to Clare. And thank her for the quince jelly.

  Douglas Swann lingered, his Ann on the back of Ann's chair, his smooth golden face bland and tender above the stiff dog-collar. The Aga cooker purred. The blue cherubs smiled. Hugh looked at his watch.

  The kitchen door burst open and swung back to strike the wall with a noise like a pistol shot and Randall entered. Douglas Swann jumped away from Ann with as much alacrity as if he'd been caught kissing her. Ann half rose and then sat back again.

  Randall, seeing Swann there, paused abruptly on the threshold and glared at him. Then he held the door open. Swann murmured that he must be off and shot past Randall through the doorway. The door banged behind him. It was not a dignified exit.

  Randall was unshaven and in shirt sleeves. His shirt ballooned out over his trousers in the front, giving him a false paunch which made him look more than usually like an actor. His face was flushed. He advanced to the table and stared at Ann.

  Hugh said, 'Sit down, Randall, and stop looking like Banquo's ghost. At such a moment he feared his son.

  Randall said to Ann, 'Must we have that bloody priest infesting the house all the time?

  Ann sat well back in her chair, stretching her hands out on the Anns as if to calm herself with deliberation. She gave him back his stare. 'He's not a bloody priest, and he doesn't infest the house. He came over to see Penny.

  'He came over to see you, said Randall, 'as you bloody well know.

  Not that I care a fuck.

  'Sit down, Randall, said Hugh, 'and don't shout!

  'I'm not shouting, said Randall, 'and I'm NOT DRUNK, in case it should occur to anyone to suggest it I'

  'You are drunk, said Ann, Hugh knew that Ann was capable of anger, but he was surprised by the readiness with which she produced it now. If Randall had prepared himself, by his own version of prayer and fasting, for this scene, so doubtless had she.

  «Why did you give all Steve's things to Penn? said Randall. He lowered his voice, but Hugh could see now that he was shivering with rage. His lips trembled and in a slower rhythm his hands opened and closed.

  'I didn't give all Steve's things to Penn. I told him he could look through the cupboard to see if there was anything there that might amuse him. Ann was dead white and with her colourless hair swept back her face was naked and strong. She clutched the Anns of the chair and kept her voice low.

  'We mustn't call you a liar, must we? said Randall. 'Miranda saw P
enn taking armfuls of stuff out of Steve's room this afternoon. He leaned forwards, his pendant shirt brushing the dominoes, his eyes bulging, his large hands spread out on the table.

  'Well, why not? said Ann. 'Why shouldn't someone enjoy those things? Steve wouldn't have minded.

  'It didn't occur to you that Miranda might mind, that I might mind?

  'If you'd been about I might have asked you, said Ann. 'You weren't About. She was quiet, but quivering taut.

  'You could have asked Miranda.

  'Look here, said Ann, 'why ever should I? What I did was perfectly proper. God knows, we've given Penny a rotten enough time. I had no need to consult anyone.

  'Randall, said Hugh, rising to his feet, 'may I suggest —

  'Perfectly proper, Jesus Christ! said Randall. 'You just don't care how much you hurt Miranda. You've upset her dreadfully. You betray Miranda and you betray Steve. God, I hate you, Ann!

  'Stop that! said Hugh. It was too late.

  Ann got up, pushing her chair violently back. It screeched along the stone-flagged floor. 'That's not true! she said. 'You don't give me an ounce of support. You hide upstairs for days and then you come rushing down to make a scene as soon as you think you've got something —

  'Don't you shout at me, you hysterical bitch. And you can tell that damn boy to put all that stuff back at once. And if you don't, I will!

  'Oh no you won't! said Ann. She stood stiffly by her chair, her hands at her sides. 'You leave Penny alone. And don't speak to me like that and don't look like that. You frighten me. I'm tired out and I can't stand it. I won't have you upsetting the boy. We have duties to the living as well as to the dead.

  'I see — Penn's alive — and Steve is dead, so we don't have to bother about him any more —’

  'Oh, don't be so hideously cruel! said Ann, her voice rising at last. 'How can you use Steve like that, you're using him —’

  'You torture me, you torture me! cried Randall, and he lifted up the end of the table and banged it savagely on the floor. 'You take everything from me, you take even Steve from me! His voice rose to a scream..

  'Randall, control yourself! Hugh gripped his son's violently trembling Ann.

  Without a glance Randall shook him off. I've a bloody good mind to clear off to London!

  'Well, clear off! cried Ann. 'You expect me to wear myself out running the nursery single-handed to earn money for you to spend in London-

  'You've gone too far now! roared Randall. As he moved half-way round the table Ann moved quickly behind her chair; but he paused, and with a whirl of his hand which made Hugh flinch back he swept the dominoes off on to the floor. They clattered loudly away through the kitchen in all directions. 'You make me miserable and take everyything away from me and then you have the insolence to taunt me about money! I'm not going to stay in this house another bloody minute! And you can have your precious Penny and your precious priesty all to yourself!

  There was a moment's silence. Then Ann dropped her head. She said nothing. She stooped and began to pick up some of the dominoes. 'Stop putting on an act, Randall, said Hugh quietly. 'Now may I suggest —

  'Did you hear me, damn you?

  'Yes, she said tonelessly, as she put the dominoes back on the table. He stared at her for another moment and then went out banging the door.

  Ann stood looking down at the table. Then she burst into violent sobbing.

  'Oh! Shouldn't have lost my temper, I shouldn't have said those things —’Don't grieve, Ann, said Hugh. He felt tired and disgusted and ashamed, yet he felt how too as. if he had foreseen it all. He put an Ann round her. Don t you see it was a put-up job? You hadn't a chance. He was obviously determined to go away, and he just wanted a scene so that he could pretend to himself that it was your fault.

  No, no, said Ann, weeping. She wiped her eyes on Miranda's dress. 'I'll go up and persuade him

  'It'll be no use, said Hugh. He watched her gloomily. Now he would have to stay at least till Thursday.

  Chapter Seven

  RANDALL stretched his legs out comfortably on the big sofa and wriggled his back into the cunningly arranged pile of cushions behind him. He drew a little nearer to him the delicate table which held his cup of tea and a pink Bowery plate with a diminutive sugar-cake upon it. He took a sip of the sweet Lapsang Suchong. 'Come, come, he said. 'Surely you knew I'd come back?

  Emma Sands and Lindsay Rimmer looked at each other. 'What shall we say to him? said Lindsay.

  'We might say that we hadn't given the matter a thought, said Emma, 'but he wouldn't believe that, would he?

  'If we say we were expecting him every day he'll begin to think he's important, said Lindsay.

  'But he's important, isn't he? said Emma. The two women laughed and Randall smiled with satisfaction. It was good to be back.

  A golden afternoon sunlight, spread out now in a soft web upon the permanent mist of tobacco smoke, filled Emma's big drawing room, which was crowded with slightly shabby, slightly. dusty, beautiful things. It revealed the cleverly darned Turkey carpet and the cleverly mended porcelain and made its daily contribution to the further fading of the chintz curtains whose powdery haze of pink and blue birds was still just discernible against a threadbare tawny background. The room, which was on the ground floor, had windows on both sides, one looking through tall iron railings at the street, and the other looking on to a small lawn planted around with spherical bushes of veronica and laurestinus, whose dusty leaves and dry stems, dark and immobile in the cruel sunlight, made them seem now like grotesque indoor objects which had been temporarily put out of the room. It was a garden designed for winter and in the summer it looked sleepy and sulky. It was however no concern of Emma's, being maintained by the management of the flats wherein she lived, a large red-brick Edwardian block amid the early Victorian facades of creamy stucco in that part of Notting Hill.

  The two women sat with their backs to the sun, which gave them each a halo, Emma's a jagged haze about her frizzy dark grey mop, and Lindsay's a thin smooth semicircle of brighter gold about the already bright gold of her neatly coiled hair. They were both doing petit-point embroidery on circular frames. Randall faced the light. He felt revealed, cornered, happy.

  'Terrible as my lot is here, said Randall, 'I assure you it was even more terrible there.

  'I don't think his lot is so terrible, do you? said Lindsay. 'Certainly not, said Emma, 'Considering how bad he is, we let him off very easily on the whole.

  'We hardly ever beat him, said Lindsay. She held the embroidery frame away from her, admiring the effect.

  'Ah, but you don't understand my sufferings! said Randall. 'I won't always behave well, I warn you. One day I'll break out. You'll see!

  'He'll break out, said Lindsay. 'What fun. More tea, Emma dear? Emma removed her glasses and set her embroidery aside. She caressed her closed eyes for a moment with long fingers. 'A fag, sweetie.

  Lindsay rose to light it for her. Their hands touched, golden in the sunshine as some complexity by Faberge.

  'But meanwhile, my dearest gaolers, said Randall, 'I'm delighted to be here. He looked affectionately round the room, to which the puffing Gauloise was now adding a momentary intensification of the sunny haze and the old familiar tobacco smell. Emma, part of whose witchery it was to seem older than she could possibly be, had contrived to give the room an Edwardian look, and appeared in the midst of it, her voluminous nylon dress seeming like transparent muslin, her silver-topped walking-stick half lost in the folds, Edwardian herself. Even her tea-table was a tea-table in some now vanished sense. Only her tape-recorder, dog-like at her feet, recalled the present age.

  He added, 'It was hell at Grayhallock. Everyone was watching me to see what I'd do, to see which way I'd jump, to see how long I'd stay. I was slowly suffocating. I can't think how I stood it so long before.

  After a pause Emma said, 'I don't suppose people were all that much interested in your doings, except for Ann. In my experience people's real interest in each other i
s very small. Even the most delicious gossip dies quickly. Don't you think so, Lindsay?

  'Yes, said Lindsay. 'Hardly anyone really notices either how good one is or how bad one is. Which I suppose is consoling, given that one is more often bad than good.

  It was always like that. They never let him really complain. With an air of fastidious good taste they would turn his complaints away into general conversation. This sense of being petted, permitted, indulged and ultimately bullied exasperated Randall, yet gave him, too, a sort of agreeable shiver. He enjoyed the outbursts and the little feeling of guilt afterwards. Still, they led him on, they provoked him, in a way which satisfied their curiosity while leaving them guiltless. He idolized the serene quality of their egoism.

  It was now over a year since Randall had fallen in love with Lindsay Rimmer. He had been, for nearly fifteen months, quite desperately in love. But the course of his love had been a strange one. He had come to see Emma, with whom he had previously had a slight party-going acquaintance, in order to ask her help and advice about getting his plays put on. He had also come to satisfy a persistent curiosity concerning his father's former mistress, about whose person in his imagination a certain lurid light had always played. He had, in that episode in the life of his slow orderly parent, an obsessive interest wherein resentment on his mother's behalf had no part; and his feelings had always veered between a sort of admiration and a sort of disappointment. The thought of it all certainly excited him and he wanted to see Emma. He came to observe her. He saw Lindsay and was instantly enslaved.