by Iris Murdoch
‘But if there wasn’t anything to it except some dotty idea in her head — ’
‘Oh but there was,’ said Christopher.
‘You mean?’
‘I’ve been Laura’s lover for nearly a year.’
‘Oh — God — ’
‘We met when she was starting to write about the drug scene. Then my lodging with you was jolly convenient, because your habits were so regular — ’
‘Christ. But why on earth — I can see why Laura might fall for you, but how on earth could you want her — or were you just being kind or — ?’
‘Well, you’re in love with her, you ought to know.’
‘Let’s start skipping this bit.’
‘I did love her,’ said Christopher, ‘I just did. I couldn’t help it, she was so sweet to me. I met her just after my bust-up with Clifford.’
‘With — Clifford — ’
‘Well you knew about my bust-up with Clifford.’
‘Oh, of course.’
‘She picked up the pieces. I was grateful. Next thing we were in bed. These middle-aged women can be absolute sex-maniacs. Not that I’m complaining, it was good. But, you know — another man’s wife — we both felt guilty. I suppose it ran its course — we kept saying it had got to stop. And she’d been having this joke about you all the time — and then when yesterday Freddie started thinking you and he were having an affair — ’
‘She ended it all with a bang, as you said.’
‘Yes. I suppose she felt she had to get you out of it. And she finished me off at the same time.’
‘Aren’t you relieved?’
‘Yes. Very. In a way. But I shall miss her like hell. Not sex, just seeing her, talking to her — ’ Tears suddenly welled up into Christopher’s pale blue eyes. He sat staring at his beer mug and weeping silently. He suddenly looked about fourteen.
‘What a horrid mess,’ I said. I got up. ‘Well I must be off. Christopher, one thing — I’d be awfully glad if you’d find somewhere else to live.’
‘Oh Hilary — you’re angry with me — don’t be — I’m terribly sorry — it wasn’t my idea.’
‘I’m not angry,’ I said. ‘We’ll stay friends. But you know — I’d just rather you lived somewhere else from now on.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Christopher. ‘Of course I do understand. Feeling as you do about Laura — ’
I left him. The night was cold, still thickly dark but snow-less. The thought of Kitty brought no relief now, no joy. I had had my glimpse of heaven, but there would be no more. Powers which I had offended were gathering to destroy me.
FRIDAY
IT WAS Friday evening and it was once more nearly six o’clock and I was once more approaching the door of the house at Cheyne Walk. I had received a note from Gunnar soon after I arrived at the office. It said, Let us try again. Could you come to Chelsea at six this evening? If I hear nothing I will expect you. G.J.
It was windless, freezing, one could feel the frost descending, gently fingering the twigs and the leaves in the gardens, outlining them. My breath steamed about me. I rang the bell.
Gunnar opened the door. I came in and took off my coat and followed him upstairs past the numerous pictures through the now familiar smell into the now familiar room. I was sick with the proximity of Kitty, glad she had promised not to listen. I felt desperately anxious not to fail now, for her sake, for Gunnar’s sake, for the sake of some last lifeline of sanity which seemed to be left to me.
I walked on towards the fireplace and turned. Gunnar carefully closed the door. He said, ‘Hilary — ’
Everything vanished, even Kitty vanished. There was nothing but his utterance of my name. It was like a voice calling the damned, recognized as coming from elsewhere, from a place which they thought they had lost forever.
‘Oh my God — ’ I said.
‘Thank you for coming.’
‘Gunnar — Look, do you think we could have a drink?’
‘Yes. I want one too. You know I saw Crystal.’
‘Yes. I’m so glad.’
‘She’s an angel.’
‘Yes. Thanks.’
‘She says she told you about that night.’
‘Yes.’
‘Can you forgive me?’
‘Me — forgive you — ?’
‘It was an awful crazy thing — I won’t try to explain it. It was one of those extraordinary moments when human conduct sort of shoots off at a tangent.’
‘I know, I know. Crystal loved you.’
‘Yes. She touched me so much, you know, in those old days.’
‘You pitied her. You were so kind to her. Hardly anybody ever has been. Hardly anybody has ever properly noticed her.’
‘It wasn’t just pity. She was such a funny brave little thing. And — oh — an angel — ’
‘Gunnar, I am so terribly terribly sorry about what happened — it was so awful — I did so much damage — if it’s any consolation to you I wrecked my own life — I’ve never really even tried to salvage anything — ’
‘It’s no consolation now,’ he said.
We looked at each other.
It was hot in the room. Gunnar seemed to be sweating. His jacket hung open, and he had pulled his tie down and partly unbuttoned his shirt. I could feel my face damp and burning from the sudden transition from cold to warm.
‘This is better than last time,’ I said.
‘Why did you let last time happen?’ said Gunnar.
‘Why did you force it on me? I felt I had to do what you wanted. But let me say again now — God, it sounds so frail after such a thing — what can words do — ’
‘It’s strange, I never thought I’d care a hang. I have hated you so much, perhaps you can hardly imagine such hatred and how it can eat a man up — ’
‘But you don’t now — ?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Can it have gone? Maybe Crystal made it go. It was just — amazing — that time with Crystal on Wednesday. Did she tell you about it?’
‘Scarcely. She said she gave you fish fingers. She said you’d never had them before.’
‘Fish fingers, yes! And I cried.’
‘She didn’t tell me that.’
‘I haven’t for years. It was extraordinary. And Crystal quoted the Bible.’
‘What did she quote?’
‘ “Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just” — ’
‘“Think on these things”. She’s full of Biblical lore. It’s all she knows.’
‘Last time you behaved as if you hated me.’
‘I was angry. I felt you despised me, I felt I was just being used. And I suppose I was disappointed.’
‘Disappointed?’
‘Yes. You know — when I heard you were coming — I had a sort of wild hope that after all it would somehow be made all right. That sounds mad, as if one could change the past, but — And then — ’
‘Anne is so awfully far away now,’ said Gunnar.
‘You said your hatred of me had made her into a ghost.’
‘Yes. It wasn’t really her at all. And I’ve felt — just in these last days — as if the ghost was crumbling — and there she was, the real Anne, very very far away — and somehow safe, out of it — ’
‘I loved her so much, I loved her dreadfully, otherwise I wouldn’t — ’
‘Yes, yes. You have loved since?’
The image of Kitty burnt me, as if a red-hot burnished plate had been put in front of my face. ‘Like that, no.’
‘I didn’t mean to pry, I just wondered if you had somebody — ’
‘No. I’m alone.’
‘Why don’t you get back into the academic world, get back into teaching?’
‘How kind you are,’ I said, ‘how remarkable it is to talk to you, how it changes the world — I thought you’d want to kill me — ’
‘Yes, I know. There can be too much hate, there can be too much guilt. One must try to drop these bu
rdens at last. Do you mind if I go on talking about Anne?’
‘No, no.’
‘You didn’t do it on purpose?’
‘You mean — crash the car?’
‘Yes. I didn’t ask you in the hospital, I couldn’t. But I’ve thought about it so often — ’
‘No. Not on purpose. I didn’t crash on purpose, but I drove dangerously on purpose.’ I had never before put it to myself so clearly.
‘And why did you drive dangerously?’
We were looking straight at each other now.
‘Because I knew I had lost her. She was going to abandon me and stay with you.’
‘Did she say that?’
‘Yes.’ I hoped Gunnar would not ask me if Anne had said she was pregnant. He did not.
‘You know-all these years — I’ve thought that perhaps — that night — she was running away.’
‘No, no, no. She thought I was going to drive her home, she kept telling me to stop, she wanted to go back to you — ’
Gunnar gave a long shuddering sigh, half turning aside, and we were silent for a moment.
He spoke again, in a tired resonant reflective tone. ‘You know — it’s a pity you didn’t write to me — then — I can see that perhaps I myself made that seem impossible — or that I didn’t ask you then — not because of my feelings about you — they were beyond any help — but because of Anne — I have had it in my heart to blame her, almost to hate her — no, that’s too much — but there was a gentleness which should somehow have covered the fact of death — which sometimes — only sometimes — failed. I see it differently now. There is so much accident in all things — I suppose in the end all things must be forgiven. I wish we could have had this talk years ago.’
‘It might not have worked years ago. If it has worked.’
‘Has it done something for you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Would any form of words help?’
‘Don’t — ’
‘But you know — ?’
‘Yes.’
‘I hope to God all this will last, do you think we can keep it up, do you think we’re acting above our station?’ Gunnar suddenly began to laugh.
I could not laugh, but I smiled. I was trembling with relief.
‘What a perfectly — extraordinary — negotiation — ’ Gunnar laughed. It was more like weeping. The big mouth opened and shut convulsively, a little saliva dribbled over the lip, the blue eyes closed as if in anguish.
I felt an awkward almost embarrassed anxiety that all should have gone well for him, that he should be well served and satisfied.
I said, awkwardly enough, ‘Is there anything eke you’d like to ask me?’
‘No, I don’t think so, we seem to have covered the programme! Oh Lord! Hilary, I wish you could get yourself a decent job, you’re obviously not getting anywhere in the office.’
‘I don’t want to get anywhere.’
‘But you must, for your own sake, for Crystal’s. You have these marvellous linguistic gifts. You must stop wasting yourself.’
‘Maybe things will be different now.’
‘And Crystal — she’s never thought of getting married?’
‘No. There was a chap but she broke it off.’ Had Crystal known that Gunnar would need her, would need that talk, did she realize how much she had done for him, did she dream that at some time in the future he might need her again?
Gunnar did not pursue the matter. He stood now gulping some whisky, staring into the fire, grimacing, frowning and smiling at the same time, moving his lip as if talking to himself, and as if he were already alone. The interview was at an end and now I must help him to dismiss me.
‘I should go,’ I said. I wanted to say, but was afraid to say: Shall we meet again?
Gunnar, looking up, seemed suddenly also aware of the unasked question. He drew in his breath, but whether in a sigh of indecision or as a preliminary to an answer I was not to know. He turned to look at the door. Kitty had come in.
Kitty tonight was wearing a canary yellow trouser suit which made her look rich and idle. Her dark hair was particularly Dionysian and glowing; perhaps Biscuit had been brushing it again this evening. Kitty’s face was so bright with interest, curiosity, even pleasure, that it was hard to believe that its owner could possibly practise any form of discretion. I was very taken aback, frightened, almost angry. There was something dangerously frivolous in this manifestation, in her evident wish to see these two men together. For a second I imagined that Kitty might actually blurt out our secret, or that she had already done so.
Gunnar, also a little disturbed, said, ‘Ah Kitty — you remember Mr Burde — you met him at the Impiatts’ place.’
‘Hello,’ said Kitty, and stretched out her hand.
I took her hand and felt its warmth, its not quite conspiratorial grip. Her face was hidden by a haze. I was now desperately anxious to get out of the house.
‘Good evening. Glad to see you again. I’m afraid I have to go.’ I made for the door and almost fell down the stairs.
I was relieved to find Gunnar just behind me when I got to the street door. I hoped he had not noticed my confusion.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’
‘Thank you. Good-bye, Hilary.’
We shook hands. It seemed at that moment like a final farewell. I was not sure if I was glad or not.
I went out through the gardens and across onto the pavement beside the river and began to walk slowly along. The frost was glittering on the paving stones, marked with footprints. So many confused emotions were darting and flashing about, I felt as if my head were wrapped up in a sort of sparkling gauzy veil, positively bundled up with intense feeling. I also felt rather sick.
I had not walked very far when I heard the lipping pad-pad of feet behind me, a woman’s feet. I stopped and turned. Biscuit, duffle-coated and hooded. I walked on and she walked beside me, as she had done, as it now seemed, so many times before. I felt that we were weary, Biscuit and I, like two faithful retainers who had grown old together. ‘Well, little Biscuit?’
She produced a letter from her pocket and held it towards me. I could see Kitty’s writing. Written when? This afternoon, during my talk with Gunnar, in rushed haste after it? My curiosity was detached. It floated away.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Take it back to Lady Kitty.’
Biscuit pocketed the letter. We walked on a bit until we came to the corner of Flood Street. Here we stopped.
‘Biscuit dear, you mustn’t be angry with me, I’m so shipwrecked. Let’s say good-bye here. Let me kiss you.’
I pushed back the hood of the duffle coat. I could not see her face. When I stooped and touched it with mine it was strangely warm and, as I realized the next moment, covered in tears. I held her, not kissing her, just clutching her close against me while her hands gripped onto my overcoat. Then we let go and she turned back and I went on towards the King’s Road. I was already bitterly regretting having refused Kitty’s letter.
SATURDAY
THE NEXT day, Saturday, began with four letters. The first, delivered by hand late at night or early in the morning, was from Tommy and ran as follows:
Darling,
I set the table and waited for you, I was so sure you would come, I made a hot-pot and a treacle pudding, I was so sure you would come. I have cried so much for you. Oh, if you would only give me a child. You know I want to marry you, but I would accept less. I just can’t face a life without you and I must have something. Could you not just give me a child and we would live near you and you could see us sometimes? Is this a crazy idea? I must have something from you. And for that there is so little time left. I was so unhappy waiting for you and your not coming, I wanted to die. Please give me something to live for. Will you think of it please, will you think of it?
Your
Thomas
P.S. I know it’s my month-day to see Crystal but I won’t come unless you ring me.
The second letter came by
post from Laura Impiatt. It ran as follows.
Dearest Hilary, I owe you so many apologies and explanations, but perhaps a simple ‘I’m sorry’ is best! I have been in a terrible muddle for a long time and am profoundly thankful that it’s over. I wonder how much you guessed? Now that I am, I think, out of the wood, I can see everything much more clearly, I can see you much more clearly. Contrary to what you may have believed (you are absurdly humble!) your love has helped and supported me a great deal. I want you to know that. Will you come round and see me? You must be glad that all that is over, and that now we can have a long talk. I am staging an illness, I have actually retired to bed, but will shortly rise anew! Could you come for a drink on Wednesday evening? Freddie will be out at a meeting. Wednesday I know is not one of your booked days. Perhaps it could be my day?! I could give you regular times now. Of course you must not stop your Thursdays, Freddie is not really against you. Only let a little while pass, better not come this Thursday. I’ll expect you about six on Wednesday if I don’t hear otherwise.
