by Iris Murdoch
‘And the neon lights at night on tawny-coloured houses.’
‘And the naked boys bathing in the Tiber.’
‘Ah, the naked boys bathing in the Tiber!’
This could go on forever, thought Simon. He was determined not to suggest dinner. Let the cassoulet burn.
‘Of course the opera’s not so good as Paris,’ said Julius.
‘That’s true. But one could always take a plane to Milan.’
‘I see they’re doing Mozart at Sadlers Wells. Is that company any good this summer?’
‘Not too bad. They did a very presentable Cosi. I forget what’s on at the moment.’
‘Die Entführung aus dem Serail. Eh, Simon?’
‘What?’ said Simon. He had been standing morosely at the window, looking out.
‘Die Entführung aus dem Serail.’
‘I can’t stand Mozart,’ said Simon.
‘Really, Axel, you mustn’t let him say things like that. It makes me feel quite faint!’
‘You enjoy some Mozart, Simon. You were humming Voi che sapete only yesterday.’
‘V oi che sapete!’ cried Julius. ‘Tiens!’
‘I only like what I can hum,’ said Simon.
‘That’s not a bad principle,’ said Julius. ‘At least it’s an honest one. Humming is not to be despised. It is a starting point after all.’
‘I doubt if Simon will ever get beyond it however,’ said Axel. ‘I’ve given up his musical education.’
‘What a pity. It seems so out of character for Simon not to like music.’
‘I agree with you.’
‘He’s such a feminine person. All the little dainty touches in this room are obviously Simon’s work. The cunning way those cushions are put, the graceful looping back of the curtains, the particular arrangement of the flowers, indeed the presence of the flowers. Am I not right? Simon provides the feminine touch. So he ought to like music. Most women are musical.’
‘Do you think so?’ said Axel. ‘In my experience men are far more musical than women. In fact, I don’t know any really musical women.’
‘You don’t know any women,’ said Simon.
‘One can’t help feeling,’ Julius went on, ‘that it’s awfully significant, who is musical and who isn’t. Now Morgan, for instance, positively detests music …’
Simon looked surreptitiously at his watch. Ten minutes later they were discussing somebody or something called Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, Simon went quietly downstairs.
He stood in the kitchen for a while drinking sherry. Let them talk. He hoped they’d go on for another hour. Only the smell from the brown earthenware pot was becoming almost unbearable. Simon savagely resisted the temptation to lift the lid and spoon out a few beans. He wanted to suffer. He could now hear from the drawing room that Julius and Axel had got on to Wagner.
‘Wagner was, of course, homosexual,’ Julius was saying as Simon glided back into the room. Simon refilled his own glass and sat down by the window. Even this information could not make him interested in Wagner. Now they were off again on the boring old Ring.
‘But here I am prattling on,’ said Julius at last, ‘and I haven’t given Axel his present. What am I thinking of!’ He leaned over and began scrabbling with his fingers at the knot on the big brown paper package. ‘I never could undo knots!’
‘How kind of you to bring me one!’ said Axel. ‘Look, don’t worry, I’ll get some scissors.’ He got up and left the room.
‘Simon,’ said Julius in a low voice. ‘Come here.’
Simon automatically got up and approached him.
‘Listen, Simon, don’t worry. It will be all right. Do you understand? ’
Simon looked down into Julius’s eager smiling face. Then he shook his head and turned away. As he turned Julius reached up and pinched his bottom. Axel’s foot was heard on the landing.
Simon stood looking out of the window, his face scarlet.
‘Here’s the scissors,’ said Axel behind him.
‘I wonder if you can guess what it is?’
‘I can’t imagine.’
‘Simon, do come and look at Axel’s present.’
Simon turned round, trying to conceal his emotion. He felt shame and fury and a kind of horrid excitement.
Julius had the paper off and the box open. Something or other was concealed by tissue paper.
‘You take it out, Axel.’
Puzzled, Axel began pulling away the tissue paper. A pair of furry ears were revealed. A moment later Axel had lifted out an immense pink teddy bear.
‘Isn’t he lovely?’ cried Julius. He smiled, giggled, laughed. Axel’s face was certainly worth looking at.
‘Good God!’ said Simon.
‘You must absolutely love him,’ said Julius, ‘both of you, or he’ll be unhappy. I hope he won’t end by making anybody jealous! ’ He nearly choked with laughter.
Axel was having difficulty in removing an expression of horror, disgust and incredulity from his face. He achieved a blank frozen look. He put the teddy bear down on the floor. ‘Thank you, Julius. It was so clever of you to remember my birthday—’ He leaned forward and began folding up the tissue paper. Over his stooped head Julius made a gleeful sign to Simon, putting his forefinger and thumb together.
‘I think we should have dinner,’ said Simon desperately.
‘Dinner?’ cried Julius. ‘But I dined hours ago. I thought this was an after-dinner visit. Do you mean to say you two haven’t eaten?’
‘We were waiting for you,’ said Simon. ‘I understood from Axel that you’d invited yourself to dinner.’
‘No, no. I’m sure I said after dinner. I did think it a little odd when you offered me a martini, but I assumed it was just a tribute to what you took to be the barbarous habits of the USA!’
‘Anyway, it was nice of you to come,’ said Axel. He was obviously still suffering from shock.
‘You do like your present, don’t you?’
‘Certainly I do. Most original.’
‘I felt sure he’d be happy here. He hasn’t told me his name but I’m sure he’ll soon whisper it shyly to Axel. He has such a modest confiding expression, don’t you think? Don’t forget to give him lots of love. He’s rather fat and lacking in confidence. “A bear, however hard he tries, Grows tubby without exercise.” You see how well up I am in English literature. Dear me, look at the time, it’s well after ten, I really must be going, I’m a fanatical early bedder. And you two poor dears must be starving. Goodnight, Axel. Goodnight, Simon love. I so very much enjoyed our last meeting. No, don’t see me down the stairs. I can find my way. Good night, good night.’
Julius departed and the front door closed. Simon, who had gone after him as far as the top of the stairs, returned to the drawing room. Axel got up and kicked the teddy bear across the room.
‘What’s that about your last meeting?’
‘He wasn’t talking to me. He just meant both of us—’
‘He didn’t. He was talking to you. You didn’t tell me you’d seen Julius. When did you see him?’
‘Well, I didn’t really see him—he rang up—’
‘You did see him. When?’
‘Well, only for a moment. He came into the office. It was only—’
‘What did he want?’
‘He wanted—He wanted to discuss what to give you for a birthday present.’
‘Birthday present? Do you mean to say you advised Julius to give me a large pink teddy bear?’
‘No, no, of course not. That was Julius’s idea. It was just a joke.’
‘I see, and you encouraged him. You had a good laugh together at my expense. Was that what he was signalling to you about?’
‘He wasn’t signalling to me.’
‘Stop telling lies. And you were whispering together when I was out of the room.’
‘Honestly, Axel—’
‘And you were blushing furiously when I came back. Do you think I’m deaf and blind?’
‘Truly,
there was nothing—’
‘Have you been to his flat?’
‘No.’
‘Look at me. Have you ever been to Julius’s flat?’
‘No, no, never—’
‘I can see you’re lying.’
‘Axel, I swear—’
Axel turned and left the room. Simon ran after him into the bedroom. Axel was putting on his jacket.
‘Please, Axel, please—’
‘Get out of my way. I’m going out.’
‘But our dinner, the cassoulet—’
‘Damn and blast the cassoulet.’
‘Axel, please don’t go, I shall be wretched—’
‘And you can get that blasted bear out of the house. I don’t want to see it again.’
‘It wasn’t my idea—’
‘Don’t touch me. And don’t come near me later on tonight either. I don’t want to see you or talk to you. You can sleep in the spare room from now on.’
‘Axel!’
Axel disappeared down the stairs and into the street. The front door slammed violently after him.
Simon went down slowly. He opened the door, then closed it again. He went into the kitchen. The cassoulet was burning. With tears streaming down his face he turned the oven off.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘I DO WISH you hadn’t told them that,’ said Rupert.
‘That I was leaving London?’
‘Yes. It wasn’t necessary. It’s much better to stick to the truth as far as possible.’
‘I just had to, Rupert. I had to clear the decks. I don’t want to bother with other people. And—with things as they are—I felt I simply couldn’t face Peter. The poor boy can’t help making demands. And I wanted, honestly, to give you all my attention, to be able to think. Was that wrong?’
‘I’m very sorry we’ve had to mislead Hilda—’
‘Well, we’re already misleading Hilda, aren’t we? And once I’d told Peter I was going away I had to tell Hilda the same story. Come, Rupert. You wouldn’t like to feel now, would you, that Peter or Hilda was likely to come knocking on the door?’
‘Suppose Hilda sees you somewhere?’
‘She won’t, Rupert. Don’t worry so. Hilda never comes down the Fulham Road, except to come here. It’s not her territory. You know she always goes by Earls Court.’
‘You’d better avoid the Earls Court Road.’
‘I will. The only nuisance is now I can’t answer the telephone and it might be you.’
‘They won’t telephone you.’
‘No, but someone might, and it could get round. I want to lie absolutely doggo for the present.’
‘Oh dear, it’s all rather—You can always ring me at the office.’
‘I know, that’s a blessing. You didn’t mind my ringing today? I felt I just had to see you.’
‘Oh Morgan, Morgan. I wonder if we’re being wise. It has upset me so much that you told that lie to Hilda.’
‘Rupert, you are being silly. We can’t tell Hilda about the other thing, now can we? We’ve agreed to that. And this little falsehood is very unimportant.’
‘Have you told Tallis you’ll be away?’
‘Peter will have told him. There. Doesn’t it make you feel more secure to know that we can be really private together?’
‘It makes it all seem more clandestine.’
‘It is clandestine.’
‘And Julius?’
‘I sent Julius a postcard. No one will call.’
Rupert sat down on Morgan’s sofa. He felt puzzled and troubled and anxious but also profoundly interested. He felt too an increasing tenderness and concern about Morgan. The girl seemed to be in a very strange frame of mind. In the last few days he had received at the office quite a stream of letters from her, all of which he read several times and meticulously destroyed. Some of the letters were reasonably calm, full of reassurances and worries about his feelings and his welfare. Others were the most frantic love letters he had ever received in his life. They upset and frightened Rupert considerably. Morgan seemed to be in a rather schizophrenic state about him. He was amazed too and indeed impressed by the firm way in which she had insisted on seeing him. He thought that if he had been in her situation he would have fled. He felt, when she asked him to come, bound to come. A refusal might produce any degree of frenzy. And also he wanted to come.
‘There’s something very odd about all this,’ said Rupert. Morgan had taken a chair and pulled it up close to him. They regarded each other.
Morgan looked at him in a moment of silence. Then she said, ‘You’re behaving beautifully.’
‘I suspect I’m behaving rashly. I’m putting a burden on you which you probably shouldn’t be expected to bear, even though you asked for it! There must be more pain than pleasure in seeing me like this.’
‘Don’t worry about me. I can carry any burden. We must—come through to calmness—and we can only do it together. Don’t be afraid.’
‘I’m not sure that there isn’t some sort of contradiction in what we’re trying to do. There’s so much drama in these meetings, especially as they have to be secret.’
‘Of course at the moment it makes you feel more agitated. But if I were to go right away, wouldn’t you, forgive me, feel frantic about it? That would be drama. We must try to do everything naturally. You must get used to me. Simply getting used to each other, to the feel of each other, will be half the battle. We’ve taken each other for granted for so long and only now do we realize that we are strangers. There is so much to learn. Rupert, we mustn’t just give each other up because of what’s happened. It’s a challenge. It’s something we’ve got to turn into a blessing, into something good. Isn’t that so?’
‘I suppose it is,’ said Rupert dubiously. ‘I certainly don’t want to be just negative about it. That would be, I agree with you, a pity, a waste.’
‘A crime against life, Rupert.’
‘Mmm. Perhaps I don’t think as highly of life as you do. It’s very hard for me to be unemotional now, when I see you like this—’
‘But why ever should you be unemotional? We’ve got to be realistic about the situation. We can’t just ignore emotion! Here, take my hand.’ Morgan stretched out her hand towards him.
Rupert stared at her. Her face was hard, bronzed, stern. She looked like the totem of a bird. He took hold of her hand. The next moment he found that he had bowed his head and was pressing her palm to his forehead. He released her quickly.
‘Oh Rupert, Rupert,’ said Morgan. ‘You remember that time in your room, just after I’d come back, the time when you were so kind to me, when you gave me the malachite paper-weight? I was talking some rigmarole to you, and I said, I forget the exact words, something about “One’s lost inside one’s psyche. There’s nothing real. No hard parts, no centre. There’s just immediate things, like—” And then I picked up the paper-weight and said “Like this,” and pressed it against my forehead. But what I meant, what I really wanted then, was to take hold of your hand instead and do just that with it, what you’ve just done with mine—dear Rupert—’
Rupert got up. He went and inspected the bookcase. ‘I think you’d better go on a world cruise.’
‘Oh my dear, you’re laughing at me, I’m so glad! If only we can both keep our sense of humour we’re certain to be all right!’
‘We need more than a sense of humour in this situation,’ said Rupert. ‘We need a damn clear sense of right and wrong, and I’m not sure that I can provide it.’
During the last few days there had been fleeting, exciting, strange meetings with Rupert, tense lookings forward and endlessly interesting reflections afterwards about what had been said. Morgan felt extreme agitation but singularly little anxiety. It was a time of destiny, not a time of decision. Nothing terrible would happen. She and Rupert had simply to hold hands. The gods would do the rest.
About Rupert’s own state of mind she had been at first a little puzzled. He had sent her several letters. Two of these were ex
tremely sober in tone, full of reluctances and doubts and tender concern that she should not suffer. The others seemed entirely mad, crazy violent letters, passionate declarations of love, prostrations, beseechings, prayers. Rupert was certainly good at expressing his love on paper, though when he saw her he was sadly tongue-tied. She destroyed all the letters, as he had instructed her to do, but she could not resist copying out some of the more eloquent passages into a notebook. Rupert was clearly struggling with himself—and equally clearly it was the wild impetuous Rupert, the deep hidden Rupert, that was winning. To have him thus at her feet was unutterably moving to her: she felt pity, compassion, delight. She felt, after a long time, a strange stirring of happiness.
Morgan had a capacity for dealing with one thing at a time, and not worrying about, almost not seeing, other features of the situation. Since she felt sure that she ought now to give Rupert her entire attention she found no difficulty in not reflecting too urgently about Hilda, about Peter, about Tallis. She was of course aware of these persons and even of their claims, but they seemed to inhabit some quite other time scheme. They were ‘pending’: and Morgan did not feel, when she was with Rupert, that during those hours and minutes Hilda really existed somewhere else near by and might be wondering where her husband was. About Julius she thought in a different way. Julius remained large and omnipresent in her consciousness and somehow mysteriously involved in her new feelings. What is it? Morgan wondered. Is it that Julius set me free and this is the first manifestation of my freedom? Or is it that accepting Rupert’s love is a kind of revenge? She would dearly have liked to discuss the whole matter with Julius. How interested he would be! She would like to have boasted to him of her conquest. Only of course that was unthinkable. It was certainly something big and something new: and to have, after Julius, something big and new and utterly unexpected in her life was an invigorating achievement. By it the old love was acted on and changed, and this, she felt, was good. Meanwhile her thoughts about Tallis, and she did think about Tallis, were vague, vague, vague. About Peter she scarcely thought at all.
It had also become even plainer to her, and she felt this as a sign of her own continued rationality, that as a companion and as a person Rupert suited and matched her more than any man she had ever met. The two other most important men in her life, Julius and Tallis, were, she now saw, simply not designed for her at all. Julius was far too erratic and domineering, and Tallis was too uncertain in his grip and too hopelessly eccentric. Tallis never really held me, she thought. Even a prostrate Rupert had over her a kind of authority to which her whole nature could calmly respond. It was, amidst all the hurly burly of Rupert’s passions and her own aroused feelings, the calmness and steadiness of this response which most of all made her feel confident of the rightness of her decision to go on seeing him. She knew that the situation was dangerous but could not feel it to be so. She had a deep trust in Rupert’s sense and in his goodness. Perhaps indeed it was just from here that her warm sense of destiny arose. Rupert would help her to nurse Rupert through.
