by Iris Murdoch
There was a silence. They reached the street and Rupert hailed a taxi. ‘Ring me up in the office,’ he said. ‘Not today.’
‘Tomorrow morning then.’
‘All right.’
The taxi drew up.
‘May I come with you in the taxi as far as Whitehall?’ asked Morgan.
‘No. Forgive me. Better not.’
They stood in the sun beside the taxi, stiff, their hands hanging, multicoloured shadows crowding past them. Morgan felt an almost intolerable physical tension. She wanted to climb into the taxi and seize Rupert in her arms and comfort him. He was looking at her with a frowning expression of pain. He turned to the taxi driver. ‘Whitehall, please.’
‘Oh Rupert—’ She felt desolation, frenzy. She did not want to leave him like this, to be left like this. The separation was suddenly awful. She stood staring at him, her face ready for tears.
‘Forgive me.’ Rupert got into the taxi and banged the door. The taxi sailed away.
What is happening to me? thought Morgan. She stood a while immobile on the edge of the kerb. Then following a sudden impulse she hailed another taxi and gave Tallis’s address in Notting Hill.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘THIS MATCHBOX IS BROKEN, look. It’s quite squashed. You must have sat on it.’
‘I didn’t sit on it.’
‘You must have done. It was all right yesterday.’
‘In a world reeling with sin and misery you prate about squashed matchboxes.’
‘I feel awful.’
‘So do I.’
‘I’ve got that bloody pain in my hip again.’
‘I thought you had it all the time.’
‘I do have it all the time. Only sometimes it’s worse.’
‘I can’t hear a word you’re saying. I wish to God you’d get yourself some teeth.’
‘Well, why don’t you treat yourself to a shave if it comes to that? You look like something growing on the side of a tree trunk.’
‘You could do with a shave yourself.’
‘The sort of thing you can’t resist scraping off with your foot and then wish you hadn’t.’
‘Either let your beard grow or don’t let it grow.’
‘I’m an old piece of human wreckage, rejected long ago by society and shortly to be crushed by nature. I’d have one foot in the grave if I could still stand up. I don’t have to worry about shaving. I don’t consort with MPs and that. Was that chap really an MP who came in yesterday?’
‘About the housing committee? Yes.’
‘No wonder England’s done for.’
‘I must go and write my lecture.’
‘Why don’t you do something useful?’
‘Teaching people is useful.’
‘Adult education. All you do is sit middle-aged babies.’
‘We have jolly good discussions. Why don’t you come along?’
‘You’d be sick if I did! I’m going to be bedridden from now on. You’ll be carrying bed-pans, my boy, not romancing about the Jarrow marchers and the General Strike.’
‘You do what the doctors tell you, Daddy, and you’ll be perfectly all right. You see you didn’t mind going to the hospital at all. The X-ray people were very nice to you.’
‘No they weren’t. Yes I did. One of those pups in a white coat called me “gaffer”!’
‘He wanted to make you feel at home.’
‘I nearly dotted him one. “Gaffer”! That’s what the Health Service does for professional standards. When I was young doctors used to know their place.’
‘When you were young you couldn’t afford a doctor.’
‘Don’t start that. This world’s a rotten oligarchy run by gangsters. Nothing in it ever gets better.’
‘Come, come, Daddy. You won’t mind going in for the operation. That arthritis operation is quite simple now and it’ll take the pain away.’
‘Who’s talking about an operation? Perhaps I prefer to be in pain. It’s my affair I should think!’
‘All right then only stop complaining!’
‘Who’s complaining? Yap yap yap yap. You never leave me in peace.’
‘Well, I’m going to leave you in peace now.’
‘You’ll have to stop your gadding about when I’m lying here moribund.’
‘Oh shut up, Daddy. Get up and shave and go and feed the birds for God’s sake.’
‘I don’t want to feed the bloody birds. Anyway the new doctor’s coming. Little you care.’
‘Oh yes, I’d forgotten. What’s he like?’
‘A whelp.’
‘Do you want me to stay with you, Daddy, till the doctor comes?’
‘I want you to bugger off.’
Leonard was sitting up in bed, very bright-eyed, his toothless mouth sucking and chumbling as if he were trying to devour his gums. He was wearing an old shrunken blue shirt and an ancient shiny waistcoat with one button on it. The shirt was drawn in tightly at the neck by a safety pin over which the constrained flesh bulged out, pitted and cheesy. The tonsure of silver hair was bouffant, as if Leonard had been crowned by a small tyre of foam rubber. Tallis went out and banged the door, opened the door, closed it again more quietly, and went off down the stairs. It was another hot day.
He had let the downstairs room where Morgan’s things had been. The room now contained a divan bed with a genuine mattress, a chest of drawers, two upright chairs and a useful hook for hanging things on. Tallis had promised the tenant a rug. The tenant was a Sikh who drove a London bus. The Sikh’s turban occasioned recurrent tumults at a near-by bus station. The Sikh was dignified, silent, and obstinate and so far the turban rode steadily onward. He was a lonely man whose only companion seemed to be his transistor set. Tallis felt he could not come between them. The Sikh’s transistor set was now on, playing something rather old-fashioned which sounded like:The sun has got his hat on,
Hip hip hip hooray,
The sun has got his hat on
And he’s coming out today!
The kitchen smelt of decaying matter. It was difficult to trace the source. I must get rid of all those milk bottles, thought Tallis. Some of them contained weird formations resembling human organs preserved in tubes. It was quite difficult to get these out of the bottles and the last time he tried to he stopped up the sink. He banged the kitchen door and a lot of things fell off the dresser. Some of them seemed at once to develop legs and scuttled about near his feet until he kicked them away. They squealed not with pain but with derision. The bitter smell mingled with the rest.
He did not feel strong enough to tackle the milk bottles so he sat down at the kitchen table where his books and notebooks were laid out on sheets of newspaper. He automatically laid his head down on the table and then lifted it again.
The sun has got his hat on,
Hip hip hip hooray …
Tallis had managed to find another evening class which paid five guineas a week, but it was out beyond Greenford and the return fare was nearly ten shillings. Also it was on the evening when the voluntary workers’ subcommittee of the housing committee usually met, and he had so far not been able to shift either the one or the other. Also the class wanted the history of the European trade union movement. Tallis’s knowledge of this was rusty and sketchy in places and there were two silent sneering Central Europeans in the class who almost undoubtedly knew more than he did. He would just have to mug it up somehow.
How horribly all his work lacked dignity, he reflected. He never really thought about anything any more now. The stillness of thought was absent from his life. He was always scratching and patching, trying to fudge up some half-baked rigmarole which would get past without positive disgrace. He sighed and reached out for Geschichte und Klassenbewusstsein. The traffic roared softly in his ears. The stifling stinking air of Notting Hill pressed down upon the top of the house, upon the top of his head. He imagined what it would be like to be in a field. He was in a field, full of tall fresh green grasses and little scrambling flowers and
mossy earthy smells and moistness, lying down deep in the grass beside his sister.
‘Tallis!’
Tallis woke up. Morgan was there.
Morgan was looking radiantly smart in a sky-blue linen suit and a white shirt. Her cheeks were flushed by the sun. She came in and closed the door. Tallis tried to rise and half fell off his chair, scattering books.
‘You were taking a nap! I thought you were so busy!’
‘I am busy,’ said Tallis. ‘Here, sit down.’
‘No thanks, not on that. This place smells.’
‘Must clean it,’ said Tallis.
‘Can’t you get a char?’
‘No.’
‘You look a sight. Why don’t you shave? It looks as if your beard is grey, but perhaps that’s just dirt. And why are you wearing that piece of filthy white rag round your neck? You ought to wear a proper tie or else an open-necked shirt. And if you must roll up your sleeves roll them properly not like an old rag bag.’
‘You look marvellous,’ said Tallis, ‘you look like flowers, fields, country things.’
‘You are poetical today.’
Tallis felt an immediate thoughtless joy at her presence. He didn’t feel sick this time. Just wildly joyful like a dog. ‘Oh God, I am glad to see you, Morgan. It’s just marvellous to see you!’
‘Well, don’t take on so. Is Peter in?’
‘No, he’s gone to see Hilda.’
‘What’s that ghastly row?’
‘A Sikh playing a transistor.’
‘I’ve got a letter here for Peter, I wrote it in the taxi.’
‘Oh.’
‘Will you give it to him?’
‘Yes.’
‘You seem put out.’
‘Didn’t you come to see me?’ said Tallis. Then he said imploringly, ‘Please sit down and don’t look as if you were just going to go.’
‘Have you any clean newspaper in this dump?’
‘Here’s today’s Daily Worker.’
Morgan put the newspaper carefully on the seat of the chair and sat down. Tallis hovered on the other side of the table staring at her.
‘You won’t forget to give Peter the letter?’
‘No.’
‘All right, don’t be cross. You aren’t jealous are you?’
‘I told you not to mess around with Peter unless you meant to care for him properly.’
‘Well, who says I’m not caring for him properly?’
‘You can’t,’ said Tallis. ‘You haven’t got the time. And you haven’t got the sense.’
‘You are being censorious!’
‘Peter’s in love with you.’
‘You are jealous!’
‘Well, all right, hang it, I am jealous!’
‘You can’t have it both ways, both lecture me and be jealous!’
‘Why not? I’m quite clear-headed enough to see that you’re being damned irresponsible. And now I suppose you’re writing him love letters.’
‘If you could only hear your tone of voice!’ said Morgan. ‘I’m not writing him love letters. You make me sick. Here, read the letter. I haven’t sealed it!’
‘I don’t want to read the letter, it’s none of my business.’
‘I’m glad you think so! Well, I’m going to read it to you.’
Morgan pulled out the letter and read it aloud.
‘Dearest Peter,
Just a little note to say that I shall be out of London for a while so don’t try to get in touch. I have to go to Oxford and a whole list of other places about jobs. I’ll let you know when I’m back. Be a good boy. Lots and lots of love to you, dear Peter.
Morgan
There, is that a love letter?’
‘It’s a lying letter,’ said Tallis.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s untruthful.’
‘What makes you say that?’ said Morgan, flushing.
‘I can feel it. You aren’t going to Oxford and a whole list of other places about jobs. Are you?’
Morgan put the letter back in the envelope. Then with an exclamation of annoyance she tore it up into small pieces. She put the pieces on the table and glared at Tallis. ‘You are being very disagreeable. ’
‘I love you,’ said Tallis.
‘Oh don’t talk that weak-minded rubbish. I did come to see you, as it happens. Not just to deliver the letter to Peter.’
‘I’m so glad! Would you like some tea?’
‘No. I’ve decided after all that I want a divorce, and I want it soon.’
Tallis looked at her for a moment in silence. Then he turned away towards the gas stove.
‘What are you doing, for heaven’s sake?’ said Morgan.
‘Putting on the kettle. I think we should have some tea.’
Morgan lit a cigarette.
‘What about all that stuff about being free and innocent and loving people?’
‘Oh I expect that will go on. But I suddenly feel capable of thinking and deciding. I feel lucid. Would you mind divorcing me for adultery?’
‘Yes,’ said Tallis. He clawed the old tea leaves out of the pot.
‘What do you mean, yes?’
‘I don’t want to divorce you. Anyway Julius wouldn’t play.’
‘What makes you think that? Yes, he would. Tallis, you’re not going to be so inconceivably mean as not to divorce me?’
‘Who’ve you met?’ said Tallis. He held a tea stained cup under the tap.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘You want a free hand with someone else. That’s the only motive which would make you lucid on that subject. Who is it?’
‘Tallis, don’t be an idiot. I’ve just been thinking. It’s a pretty obvious conclusion, isn’t it?’
‘No. I’ve been thinking too. You’re far too unstable to decide anything at present. Wait a year.’
‘A divorce takes time. I want us to start now.’
‘Wait a year.’
‘I haven’t got a year! I want to get on with my life!’
Tallis dried the cup vigorously on a piece of newspaper. Some of the brown stain came off on the paper.
Morgan was quiet, regarding him and smoking. It was suffocatingly hot in the kitchen. She took off the blue linen jacket, rolled up her sleeves and undid a button of her blouse. Tallis made the tea.
‘Tallis, you are deceiving yourself.’
‘You are deceiving yourself. Oddly enough, you love me. You’ll see this later.’
‘Stop dreaming.’
‘You are the dreamer. I took you on forever. That’s what love is about. Forever.’
‘You’re being solipsistic. I am an adventuress, Tallis. I doubt if I shall ever make any man happy. That’s why—’
‘You could make me happy. You need me. You will never be content frigging around with lovers. You’ll only choose the wrong ones.’
‘That’s the plea of a weak man. Stop, I’ve given up sugar.’
‘You have forgotten the quality of your happiness with me. We lived in an innocent world.’
‘That world has been smashed.’
‘No, it still exists only it is empty. You are my wife and you have not denied that you love me.’
‘Yes, but what’s the use—Oh Tallis, you mix me so!’ She took the tea cup. Tallis stood beside her. ‘It’s no good, Tallis. You keep talking, but I can’t hear you. I’m mechanical. I’m just a machine. I look like a human being but I’m really a robot.’
‘No. This is flesh and would bleed.’ He caressed her arm, and then moved away again.
‘I wish you wouldn’t plead with me, Tallis, though I know, what else can you do, and I ought to be grateful—Tallis, give me one good reason why I should come back to you.’
‘I’ll give you two. I want a child.’
‘Really—’
‘And you want a child.’
‘Oh—’ The cup jarred abruptly onto the table.
‘Of course,’ said Tallis, talking quickly, ‘th
at would bring us other troubles, children always do, and we’d be very short of money, and if you did decide to leave me later there’d be a problem about the child, or children they might be by then, and I know I’m not the only male in the world but I am convenient being your husband, although society is so terribly permissive these days of course, and you know you can trust me absolutely and who else can you really trust, at any rate it would take a long time for you to feel so right with somebody that you wanted him to be the father of your child, and after all you aren’t all that young, you’re over thirty and it’s time for this thing to happen to you if it’s going to happen, isn’t it?’
Morgan rose to her feet. She rolled down her sleeves and put on her jacket. ‘Tallis, I think you’re disgusting!’
‘I only said I was convenient,’ said Tallis.
‘I’m going. I’ll write to you about the divorce. Good-bye.’
‘Wait a minute.’ Tallis came round the table and stood in front of the door. ‘I’ve been bloody patient about this business of your clearing off and living with someone else for two years, and everyone nagging me to get tough with you, and now you come back and all you can do is talk a lot of slimy half-witted nonsense about your states of mind. Damn your states of mind. If you want me to cooperate with you either in continuing our marriage or in ending it you’ve got to talk to me properly. I’m fed up with your waltzing in and out with statements of policy and you feel this and you feel that. You can bloody well talk to me. You’re my wife, and I want to know what you’ve been doing and what you’re doing now. I want to know what happened in America, and if you imagine you’ve fallen in love with someone else I want to know who it is.’
‘It’s a bit late to start playing the jealous husband,’ said Morgan. ‘And you’re not much good at acting anyhow.’
‘I’m not acting.’
‘Yes, you are. You put up with it all, didn’t you?’
‘I had to. I knew you’d come back.’
‘Don’t, Tallis. When you pretend to be tough you’re just pathetic and I can’t bear it. Now get out of the way, please. Whatever’s that you’re wearing underneath your shirt? Good heavens, it’s my amber necklace. I wondered where it was. You are sentimental, aren’t you.’
