An Accidental Man

by Iris Murdoch

  ‘Yes. Her mother died last night.’

  ‘I am — so sorry —’ Dorina looked frightened. Any news of a death affected her in a personal way. ‘I hope she didn’t suffer — Mrs Ledgard.’

  ‘No. It was expected after all.’

  ‘One never expects a death, it isn’t possible.’

  ‘Maybe. And another thing. Gracie’s engaged.’

  ‘Who to? Sebastian?’

  ‘No. Ludwig.’

  ‘Gracie engaged to Louis. Oh.’ Dorina turned away towards the window. She said, ‘Gracie’s lucky. Well, so’s Louis. She’s nice. But how odd.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is odd,’ said Mavis. Her own feeling had been a kind of little dismay on Dorina’s behalf. Ludwig was such a thoroughly decent boy and he had comforted Dorina in some way, perhaps by being someone whom she and Austin had discovered and liked jointly. He was a part of their public world. Dorina and Austin had so little social public world in common. Now, it occurred to Mavis, he was gone. Gracie would not tolerate his rather peculiar friendship with Dorina and all those almost daily go-between ministrations. Perhaps it might be a blessing though if it made Dorina make up her mind about Austin. Clara Tisbourne had also told Mavis that Austin had lost his job.

  ‘Did Clara say anything else?’

  ‘No.’ Let Austin tell her in his own time.

  ‘Charlotte will have the Villa.’

  ‘Clara says she thinks it’s left to both of them.’

  ‘I want Charlotte to have it,’ said Dorina. ‘Poor Mrs Ledgard. Oh dear.’

  ‘When are you going to see Austin?’ said Mavis. ‘You can’t decide anything till you see him again. You’re just getting sort of comatose and dreamy staying on here and deciding nothing.’

  ‘I’ll write to him,’ said Dorina.

  ‘You’re always writing to him. Don’t write to him, see him. All those letters going to and fro and Ludwig arriving with flowers — that’s no use —’

  ‘Don’t, Mavis. Do you ever feel that life is empty and awful?’

  ‘Yes. But it’s better to have it empty and awful than full and awful like Mrs Carberry. Oh Dorina —’

  Dorina was in tears.

  ‘I’m going to make the lunch,’ said Mavis.

  She went out not exactly banging the door but closing it briskly. She felt horribly haunted by Dorina’s troubles, almost made unclean. Only spirit could break these spells. Perhaps she had better ask Mrs Carberry to pray for them all.

  ‘We’re on an island,’ said Austin. ‘You and me, Mitzi, we’re on an island. Where’s Ludwig?’

  ‘He’s taken Gracie to the cinema.’

  ‘Good. Was I saying? We’re on an island. Man needs a woman, tenderness, nothing like it, always one at the right time. Have’s more whisky. I’m thingummybob and you’re what’s-her-name, years and years on this island and all the time there’s a wee wifie waiting —’

  ‘Austin, you’re drunk.’

  ‘Oh I’ll get there in the end, Mitzi, it’s lovely there, you know, at least it will be after they’re all dead and the old dog will recognize me and wag his tail —’

  ‘I’d like to have a dog. I’ve always wanted a dog. Only you couldn’t keep one in London really.’

  ‘And the wee wifie’s waiting and turning her spinning wheel like a bloody sibyl and the years are passing and all the time I’m down on the beach crying my eyes out because the great big nymphie won’t let me go home.’

  ‘Austin darling, you’ve only been here two days and —’

  ‘I won’t ask you to sit on my knee, Mitzi, the chair might bust. Don’t you grieve though, one day you’ll meet a man who’s bigger than you are. You know I’m glad I’ve lost my job, it makes me feel free. Begone dull care. Oh I’ve had such awful news, you don’t know what awful news I’ve had.’

  ‘About Dorina?’

  ‘No, not about Dorina, no such luck, I mean luck for you, dear. Dorina’s safe, she’s all right, she’s safe in her cage and they’re feeding her with seed cake through the bars. She’ll wait for me, she’s got to, bless her innocent little palpitating heart.’

  ‘What’s this news you’ve had, Austin?’

  ‘No news. One has always known the worst. In the womb one knows one’s doom, one lies in the tomb, shut with the executioner into a little room. Only one forgets it mercifully, it slips one’s mind. We all know the day of our death only we forget it. Shall I tell you a story?’

  ‘About Dorina?’

  ‘Always on about her, aren’t you. No, not about Dorina, she’s sacred, she’s above us, she’s separate from all this, she’s an angel, she’s on her island and we’re on ours. I’ll never talk to you about her, never, if I ever talk to you about her may my tongue wither. Pass the bot, there’s a good girl. Was I saying? God, I so much wanted a daughter. What was I saying?’

  ‘Austin, you’re drunk, you’d better go to bed.’

  ‘But not with you, my pettikins. Even big girls can’t have everything they want. Keep your dressing-gown buttoned, duckie, I don’t want to see your nightie. Shall I sit on your knee?’

  ‘Austin —’

  ‘I’m not as drunk as you think. I’m just telling dull care to begone. Shall I tell you a story?’

  ‘The bottle’s empty.

  ‘Shall I tell you a story?’

  ‘All right, but —’

  ‘Once upon a time there were two brothers. Now this story isn’t about me and Matthew. I know you think it is but it isn’t. There were these two brothers and they lived on the top of a high mountain, and down at the bottom of the mountain there was a deep blue lake and at the bottom of the lake there lived a lady —’

  ‘How did she breathe?’

  ‘Shut up. And this lady was the most beautiful and desirable thing in the whole world and one day the younger brother said to the elder brother, Brother, let us go down and get this lady, let us appropriate this lady, and the elder brother said, One lady between two is no good, I resign my part in the lady, go you and get the lady for yourself. So the younger brother climbed down the mountain, which was very steep, did I mention that, it was very steep, and he got the lady —’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Never mind. Then when he was climbing up the mountain with the lady the elder brother looked down and saw and he couldn’t bear it and he took a great boulder and rolled it down the hill and killed the younger brother —’

  ‘Killed him?’

  ‘Yes. Squashed him out as flat as a kipper.’

  ‘And what happened to the lady? Was she killed too or did she marry the elder brother?’

  ‘That was the funny part. It turned out there wasn’t really a lady at all. It was all made of plastic, like plastic flowers. And the younger brother was bringing it back to show it to the elder brother just for a laugh.’

  ‘So the elder brother killed him for nothing.’

  ‘It’s not so simple. You keep saying things but it’s never as simple as you think. Mitzi, what’s that?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That noise. Mitzi, there’s somebody out on the landing — Quickly, go and look, quickly —’

  Matthew, who had been listening at the door for some minutes, turned and scuttled away down the stairs. If he could immediately have undone the street door he would have darted out and run away into the night, but as he was still fumbling with the catch Mitzi appeared on the landing and switched the light on.

  Matthew looked up. He saw a tall portly woman, with short pale bobbed hair and a large pink face, dressed in an old dressing-gown. In the dim light and the shapeless robe she looked rotund and heavy, armless and legless and big breasted like an archaic stone goddess. Mitzi looked down. She saw a stout bald elderly man with bulging bloodshot eyes and a frightened expression, holding a brief case. He looked like a tax inspector. They had never met each other before.

  ‘What is it?’ said Mitzi.

  ‘I am extremely sorry,’ said Matthew. ‘I just came in through the door and was abo
ut to call up the stairs. The bell appears to be out of order. I fear in any case that I may have entered the wrong house. I am looking for a Mr Gibson Grey, a Mr Austin Gibson Grey.’

  ‘The bell hasn’t worked since the blitz,’ said Mitzi. ‘Could you wait? I’ll see if Mr Gibson Grey is in.’ She had decided that this individual was about to serve a writ on Austin for nonpayment of a debt.

  There was no sign of Austin. He had gone through into the adjoining kitchen. She found him there leaning over the sink and panting. He had been dashing water on to his face and his hair was wet and dripping.

  ‘There’s a —’

  ‘I know. It’s my brother.’

  ‘Your brother?’

  ‘I’ll go down and see him in a minute.’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Just breathing.’

  ‘Do you think he heard?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Yes. Could you give me some of that brandy? The whisky’s all gone.’

  Mitzi took it from the cupboard and poured him some. He drank it in single draught and started coughing.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘In the hall.’

  ‘Go and look, would you? He may be just outside.’

  Mitzi came back. ‘He’s sitting on the stairs at the bottom. Shall I —’

  Austin strode past her and out of the room. As he came on to the landing he took his glasses off and put them in his pocket. Matthew rose and they met at the bottom of the stairs. Austin extended his left hand.

  ‘Matthew! How delightful!’

  ‘Austin — Austin —’ Matthew took the hand in both of his.

  ‘Forgive me,’ said Austin, ‘I have to go out this very minute to make an urgent telephone call. You must excuse me. I would have loved a talk but it must wait. Please excuse this rush.’

  ‘May I come with you?’

  ‘It’s just at the corner. Perhaps I can get in touch with you. Where are you staying?’

  ‘Brown’s Hotel.’

  ‘Good. Well, here we are and I must make my call. I’m afraid it’ll be rather a long one. So nice to see you. We must get in touch. Please don’t wait.’

  Austin got inside the telephone box. It was very brightly lighted inside. Outside was dark. Matthew had vanished. The bright lights were hurting Austin’s eyes. He lifted the receiver and started dialling nines. Then a violent airy impulse took him about the waist and swung him far away. He pursued himself through space. He was lying on a tilting board which turned out to be the door of the telephone box. Just before it was going to tilt him into a pit he lurched forward until his face was pressed upon a black pane of glass. Through the glass he saw two shimmering orbs, like the face of an owl. Matthew was peering in at him from outside. He tried to turn his back but he seemed to have six rubbery legs which were gradually being folded up. He was a space craft landing on the moon. No, he was on that swing again, flying back the other way. His vision was darkening into a night sky of pullulating dots. One knee struck a concrete wall and there was pain somewhere. One foot seemed to be trying to run away down a rat hole. Something funny was spinning round and round in front of his face. It looked like a telephone receiver swinging round and round and round upon its flex. He must be on the floor. But then where were his legs?

  ‘Are you all right?’ said Matthew.

  The telephone receiver was saying something too.

  A woman’s voice said, ‘Do you want the police?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Austin, ‘I want to report a murder.’

  Nerves, thought Matthew, pure nerves. Typical. I couldn’t leave it till tomorrow, could I. After that talk with Garth I imagined Austin thinking, he came straight to Garth, he talked me over with Garth, then he hadn’t time to come and see me, oh no, I’m second best, he spends the evening with Garth and decides to see me later, everyone takes precedence over me, he wouldn’t come hot-foot from the airport just to see me, would he. That’s what I thought of him thinking. I can do Austin better than Austin does himself. So I come rushing round here in a nervous frenzy and commit that crime on the stairs. Did he know I was listening? And now this telephone box crime. Why couldn’t I go quietly back to my hotel? Am I afraid of him, or what?

  A little further on Matthew passed the home-coming Ludwig in the darkness, but of course they did not know each other.

  A little further on still a police car went by with its siren screaming.

  My dear Ludwig,

  Your last letter has filled your mother and myself with consternation. When you spoke of this matter earlier we did not, I am afraid, realize how serious you were. This step which, led by understandable feelings, you propose to take seems to us not only injudicious but wrong. We are fortunate enough to live in a democratic state and should surely obey or at least confront its laws however temporarily repugnant, as Socrates did with the laws of Athens. The accident of your birth in England seems a quite insufficient reason for this grave step which must be seen by the English authorities themselves as a mere device or subterfuge. The United States government has a long arm. Are you certain that you cannot be extradited as a deserter? Your letter was vague on this point. We are very alarmed indeed about your position and feel uncomfortable about your motivation. You know how with gratitude your mother and I regard our deliverance in this land of freedom. Naturally we share your horror of this terrible war, though we cannot agree with you that it is wrong to wage it. Some wars are less evil than what they combat, in the present case totalitarian government, which we have experienced and you have not. Naturally too we do not want to see you in uniform. You are our only child. Perhaps you do not realize how ardently we have prayed that this cup might pass from us, and that you would not in fact be drafted, as this seemed at some time likely. Of this I say no more. Duty has nothing to do with what we however passionately desire. We feel in this eventuality that you cannot adopt what seems so odd and makeshift a solution without in the long run thinking ill of yourself, even apart from the danger of your being extradited. We understand about your work and about the pleasantness and ease of life in England, but you are not an English person. You have the precious privilege of an American passport which must not be lightly given away, and there are claims which America has upon you because of us, because of your education, because of the true ideals for which, however imperfectly, this country stands. You are young and young people are greedy. But you have many years ahead, God willing, and England and a time of work there can be enjoyed later. If you do not now somehow make yourself straight with the American power you will be unable to return here for many years or perhaps ever without severe penalties, such as imprisonment, and you know what terrible places are these prisons, where you could even be killed by the other prisoners. You must know that if you do not meet this matter properly now, in some way, and meet it right here at home, you are choosing exile from what you are fortunate enough to call your homeland. You would be certain to wish to return later, we feel sure, and to come whatever the cost, this we fear. Your suggestion that we should, at our age, remove our home yet again seems to us merely thoughtless. We do not want to return to Europe where we have no happy memory. We have so far managed to keep your decision from the neighbours, who about your return constantly enquire, but we have discussed the matter with Mr Livingstone. Having regard to the date of drafting, he advises that you profess to have been travelling in Continental Europe and not to have received the papers. This untruth, though as such repugnant, seems the best method to put yourself right with the law. When you have come back here we can consider best what to do with regard to your attempting to get perhaps exemption. The tribunals are more sympathetic now and there are a lot of different possible courses, but these must be arranged for over here. Above all you must come back soon, or any further delay is now very dangerous and we so terribly fear your being extradited, which would be ruin of your life. Will you please send a cable to say that you are coming. You are causing us very
great anxiety and pain. Your mother sends her love and hopes you will soon be with us once more.

  Your affectionate father,

  J. P. H. Leferrier

  Dearest Karen,

  Will you be my bridesmaid? This is my way of letting you know that I am engaged, affianced, a promissa sposa! No, not to — But to that American boy I told you of, Ludwig Leferrier, the young ancient historian! So I am to be a don’s wife after all! (Do you remember ‘tinker tailor’ in the dorm and Ann crying because she always got ‘thief’?) I didn’t expect it, when I first met him I thought him awfully censorious, and then suddenly I started seeing him as Sir Lancelot. I feel rather frightened and old but fearfully happy. He’s handsome in a grave sort of way but sort of furry too, he’s awfully clever and serious, not a bit like — Do you remember saying let’s never get married unless we feel fantastically lucky to get him? I feel like that about Ludwig. May you, darling, be equally blessed. I have always regarded you as my sister since that first morning at boarding school when you told me I didn’t really have to turn my mattress every day! I gather you are still down at the Mill House. Let me know when you’ll be in town and we’ll talk clothes and love! Lots and lots of the latter from your childhood pal,

  G

  Sebastian,

  What did I tell you? Please see the enclosed cutting from The Times. You know what your tactical mistake was of course? Interested as I was, I even gave you, on that evening, a hint of advice. I was then almost resigned. I know I have been a complete idiot where you are concerned. I gratuitously confessed my love (which men despise) and I let you have me when I was sure you loved another (which is genuinely contemptible) and you can do what you like with me and you know it. However, since this morning there is a new world in which it still remains, oddly enough, for you and me to make each other’s acquaintance. We did rather start at the end, didn’t we? I think now something rather formal would be in order. The parents are still much involved in their childish pursuits, pa with his pigs and mama with organizing her terrible boutique, but I can give them the slip on Monday. Let us then lunch at an expensive restaurant of your choosing, yes? I shall probably be staying with Ann Colindale, not at the parental mansion. She is in love, by the way, but not, wise girl, with you. Don’t tell Gracie I’ll be in town.