by Iris Murdoch
She said, “Yes, I’ll soon get a job.”
“It’s time you were earning money of your own. You can command a good salary.”
“In the city, yes.”
“Not necessarily in the city.”
“I mean it’s easy in the city, and since I’m living here—”
“That brings me to another point,” said Carel.
Something in his voice made Muriel look at him. “What?”
“I do not desire you to go on living here.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Muriel.
“I wish you to move out of this house as soon as possible.”
Muriel stared at her father. In the very bright light the smooth surface of his face seemed decomposed a little, white and powdery. Only the eyes glistened like damp blue stones and the lank dark hair gleamed as if it were wet.
Muriel said, “I don’t understand you.”
“I wish you to move out of this house as soon as possible.” Carel uttered the words in exactly the same voice as if they were not a repetition.
“You can’t mean that,” said Muriel.
Carel sat looking at her silently. He moved his hands a little as if to be sure that they were relaxed and comfortable.
“But why?”
Carel cleared his throat. He said, “You know it is most unusual in these days for a young person of your age to live with her parents. You have been leading an abnormal life. I think it is time for you to lead a more normal one. Would you not agree?”
Muriel stared into Carel’s eyes, trying to see some movement, some little flicker of a calculating watching consciousness. She could see nothing except the lubricated surface of the eyeball. She blinked, conscious of the steady glow of the icon in the corner of her field of vision.
“What about Elizabeth?”
“Naturally Elizabeth stays here.”
“But who will look after her?”
“I will look after her.”
Muriel breathed deeply and tried to think. It could not be like this, it could not be. In her wildest imaginings of what her father might do to her it had never occurred to her to conceive that he might try to separate her from Elizabeth.
She said, “I don’t think Elizabeth could get on without me.” In her heart she said, living without me, breathe without me.
“I have no doubt that she will soon get used to your absence.”
Muriel sought for the right words, for some sort of cunning strength, the strength to resist him utterly. Could her father simply make her do what he wished? She said, “If I leave this house I shall take Elizabeth with me.”
Carel smiled. The white teeth glistened in the dry face. “I think that would scarcely be practicable, Muriel.” He spoke as if it were the most ordinary of suggestions.
Another thought came to Muriel. “But Elizabeth surely— Does Elizabeth know of this idea? Does she approve?”
“Naturally I have discussed it with Elizabeth and of course she approves.”
Muriel stood up. Her father remained motionless, raising his eyes towards her. She meant to say to him, I don’t believe you. She said, “I hate you.”
Carel continued to look towards her but his face had stiffened and his eyes seemed to glaze over as if he could no longer make the effort of focusing them. He looked as if he were already alone. Muriel made a gesture with her hand as if to dash away too much light from her face. Then with an instinctive movement she leaned forward and snatched the icon up from the desk and hugged it to her breast. She turned and ran from the room.
“Muriel, Muriel, Muriel, not so fast, I want to talk to you. Where are you rushing to?”
Muriel paused half way through the hall. She said to Leo, “I’m going to see your father.”
“He isn’t there. He’s out shopping. Look, I must talk to you.”
Muriel laid the icon down on a side table, face downwards. She did not want Leo to see it. The front door bell was ringing and a moment later Pattie could be heard explaining to Anthea Barlow that unfortunately the Rector was busy.
Muriel’s first thought on leaving her father’s room had been to run straight back to Elizabeth. But a second thought checked her. She needed time to reflect, other help perhaps, before seeing her cousin. Her father’s decision to send her away had come to her at first with the flat relentless matter-of-factness of so many of Carel’s decisions. So, now what he wanted was that she should go. More slowly she realized exactly why it was that she had to go. Her cousin’s silence, her calmness, her so familiar and ordinary peevishness and restlessness, perhaps this most of all, had very nearly convinced Muriel that Elizabeth “knew nothing". Muriel was aware how completely irrational it was to think this. But she had been simply unable to conceive of Elizabeth’s silence as a deliberate masquerade, as the initiation of a policy, as part of some terrible revenge.
Now Carel’s decision made her see things with a difference. Unless Carel was lying altogether, Elizabeth and Carel must have conferred together about what was to be done. Indeed it was most unlikely that Carel would have told Muriel to go without at least warning Elizabeth; and surely Elizabeth could have stopped him if she had wished to. Elizabeth and Carel had discussed her, conferred about her and coldly decided her fate. She had placed them in a new situation and in this situation they had acted. In her own state of shock it had simply not occurred to her to ask: what will they do?
Even more than what had gone before, this drawing of them together against her altered the whole world. Even the past was changed. Muriel began to ask herself questions of a terrible precision. How long? What was it like? How had it started? Why had it happened? She felt unable now to confront Elizabeth. There ought to be tears, screams and shame. But suppose Elizabeth were cold? Suppose she behaved just like Carel? How very alike they are, Muriel thought for the first time in her life.
She had picked up the icon automatically, by instinct, but now she saw its presence as a sign. The icon had been upon its miraculous progress and now it had come back and it would lead her to Eugene. To take it back to him was the only significant action that was left to her. As she imagined giving it to him and then losing herself in a storm of tears she felt at last in every aching cell of her body how utterly wretched she was.
“Muriel, what’s the matter with you? I’ve been talking to you and you aren’t listening.”
“Did you say your father wasn’t in?”
“He’s out shopping. He’ll be back soon. Look, we can’t talk here, let’s go up to your room.”
Muriel turned and began to mount the stairs. She entered her room and switched the light on and almost shut the door in Leo’s face. The room was icy cold. The fire was rarely lit there, since Muriel spent so much time in Elizabeth’s room. Muriel sat down on the bed and covered her face with her hands.
“What’s the matter, Muriel?”
“Nothing. What did you want to say?”
“Well, two things. First I’ve got to confess to you that I’m in a terrible fix. It’s like this—old Marcus—well, you probably know by now it was Marcus I went to to get the money to buy that bloody icon back. But never mind the icon. I told Marcus I was engaged to be married. Next thing he sees is you and me tangling on the floor. Well, that’s the least of my troubles. I felt bad about old Marcus. I’m quite fond of the old fool really. I can’t be his slave either. It was awful. You remember I said I’d give him that seventy-five pounds. Well, I decided it wasn’t enough, that I’d have to give him the whole lot, what he’d have to pay for the icon. So do you know what I’ve done? I’ve borrowed two hundred and twenty-five pounds from that older woman, the one I told you about. So now I’m in it again with her up to the neck. What do you think of that?”
Muriel was half listening to Leo. In a little while Eugene would be back and would be holding her in his arms and making her think and feel and become a whole human being again. She said distractedly to Leo, “It’s not very important.”
“What? It’s terribly impor
tant, it’s disgraceful. Aren’t you going to tick me off? Aren’t I awful?”
“Why should I believe you anyway? You tell so many lies your remarks just aren’t interesting.”
“Muriel, I’m not lying to you any more, I swear.”
“Well, what was the other thing you wanted to say? I’m in a hurry.”
“Oh, all right. We’ll leave that. I just had to tell you. The second thing I wanted to say was that I’m in love with you.”
“What did you say?”
“I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU.”
“Don’t shout.”
Muriel got up and went to the window. As she crossed the room she saw through the half-open door of the corner cupboard the little blue bottle which contained the sleeping-tablets. She pulled the curtain back a little. There was a pattern of frost on the inside of the pane, thin as tissue paper, and beyond it the darkness. She shivered. Longing for Eugene filled her to the brim, longing for a place where she could break down. She groaned and leaned her head against the glass. The granules of cold gritty frost pitted her forehead.
“You don’t seem very pleased,” said Leo. “But it’s all your fault. You would excite me about that girl. And then it was such a fiasco, and old Marcus arriving like that. What did you see anyway through that crack in the wall? You seemed pretty determined I shouldn’t look.”
“I told you,” said Muriel. “She was naked. Well, no she wasn’t exactly naked, she was wearing her surgical corset.”
“Her what?”
“She has a permanent illness of the back and she has to wear a sort of metal sheath to keep the centre of her body rigid.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I thought it might put you off.”
“It would have put me off. Just as well I’m not in love with her, isn’t it? I might have had to sue you.”
“I did mislead you,” said Muriel. “I’m sorry. She isn’t even very beautiful.”
“I don’t understand you, Muriel. Most girls want to keep the boys for themselves, but you wanted to give me away. Anyway, you’ve got me now. What are you going to do with me?”
Muriel moved her head. It seemed as if her brow was becoming frozen to the window. She stepped back. Icy water ran down into her eyes. She wiped her face with her hand and faced Leo. Leo was hunched inside his overcoat with the collar well turned up and his hands deep in his pockets. His nose was red with cold. His rather small furred head peered out from the bundle of the coat, like an animal looking out of a hole. His legs below the coat, in tight faded jeans, looked weak and spidery. How small he is, thought Muriel.
She said, “You’re not really in love with me, Leo. Forget it.”
There was silence for a moment. Muriel chafed her frozen brow awkwardly with a stiff cold hand.
Leo said in a slower deeper voice, “I don’t think you’ve quite understood me. This is serious.”
Muriel thought, what is this idiocy. She could scarcely attend, scarcely understand. She said, “I’m sorry, I can’t love you. I’ve got troubles of my own anyway. You’re too young. And I’m in love with someone else.” Was that true? Saying it seemed suddenly to make it true.
“I don’t believe you,” said Leo.
“I must go now,” she said. “Please forget about all this.” She began to move past him to the door.
“Wait, my girl,” said Leo. “I told you it was all your fault. You’ve got to suffer a bit, too, you know.”
“Get out of the way, please.”
“Perhaps you don’t understand English. I told you I’m in love. It’s a kind of sickness, Muriel, don’t you know? Like to feel how my heart’s beating? Do you really think I’m going to let you get out of that door without touching you?”
“Leo, please, there’s something urgent—”
“It can wait. I love you, Muriel. And you’re going to undergo my love. And you’re going to love me. I wanted a terribly special girl. Well, you’re it.” He gripped Muriel’s arm, digging his fingers in fiercely.
“Let go, you’re hurting me.”
“That’s better. Now you’re going to sit down and I’m going to tell you how wonderful and unusual you are.”
Leo pushed Muriel so that she sat down heavily upon the bed. He leaned over her, with one arm scooping underneath her knees, and she felt the chill of his hand against her leg above the stocking. She began to struggle but his other hand, pressing heavily on her shoulder, forced her to lean awkwardly back against the wall.
“Naughty, naughty, you’re kicking. I’ll tell you another nice thing about you, Muriel. You’re a virgin. I know. Men always know. So you see— Now kiss me. You didn’t do it too badly last time.” He thrust his face towards her.
Weakness and disgust made Muriel want to whimper. She sat still in his imprisoning grasp, turning her head away. The misery of her body mounted in a physical paroxysm. She said in a low clear voice, “Don’t touch me. I am in love with your father.”
As Muriel went through the door of her room she thought: but where is the icon? She remembered that she had left it down below on the side table in the hall. A new buoyancy took her down the stairs. Now she would fly straight to Eugene as to her salvation and make him happy and grateful. The miraculous return of the icon would open the gates of communication between them. This time the privilege of tears would be hers and in those tears the world would begin again. If she could touch Eugene, if she could utter a single word to him about her situation, she would be automatically set free from them.
Muriel stopped dead in the middle of the hall. The icon was not there. She approached the table. Was it there that she had left it? She was certain. Fear licked her like an agonizing flame. It was gone. In a futile helpless way she looked about on the floor, peering under the chairs. It was gone, it was lost, someone had stolen it again. It was all her fault. She had had it in her hand, how could she have been so insane as to put it down for a single second? She looked at the front door. It was bolted. Had her father come down and taken it back to his study?
“What are you looking for?” said Pattie.
Pattie’s black face was looking out from under the stairs. Behind her the kitchen door stood open.
Muriel moved slowly past Pattie into the kitchen. She said in a dull voice, “I left something on that table.”
“Oh, that picture,” said Pattie. “Eugene’s icon. Yes, I found it there and gave it back to him.”
“You gave it back to him?”
“Yes, of course. What did you expect me to do with it?”
“But it was mine.” Muriel’s voice had become a high wail. Her hands clawed the air. “I found it. I was going to give it back to him. You should have left it where you found it. It was none of your business. I was going to give it to him.”
“Well, you can’t now,” said Pattie. She turned her back on Muriel and began to stir a saucepan of soup which was steaming upon the hot plate of the cooker.
“You knew it was mine!”
“I knew nothing of the sort,” said Pattie. “It isn’t yours, anyway. I just found it there. You shouldn’t have left it lying about. It might have got stolen again.”
“You did it on purpose. I found it, I wanted so much to give it to him. You took it from me on purpose.”
“Oh, don’t be so childish,” said Pattie. “What does it matter who gave it to him, so long as he’s got it back.” She went on stirring the soup. She added, “He was very pleased.”
Hysteria had now taken hold of Muriel. A high whining sound came out of her, seeming not to issue from her mouth but to emerge from her whole head. She shouted to Pattie, “Listen to me!”
“Don’t make that horrible noise,” said Pattie. “Someone’ll hear you.”
“Listen to me, damn you!”
“Get out of my kitchen,” said Pattie, turning round, hands on hips.
“It’s not your kitchen. You’re just a common servant and don’t you forget it.”
“You little brat,�
� said Pattie, beginning to raise her voice. “Get out of here before I slap you.”
Muriel advanced on Pattie, who backed away. “Don’t you dare to touch me, Pattie O’Driscoll, I’ll tear you in pieces.” Muriel picked up the saucepan of soup by its handle.
