by Iris Murdoch
Annette was still standing near them, holding on to the tapestry and staring at Mischa. Mischa turned his head. ‘Annette, come here,’ he said, speaking as if to a child. He stretched out his hand.
Annette came forward cautiously, putting her foot down as if the floor might give way under her. As Mischa kept his hand outstretched, she took it, and he drew her down to sit beside him at Rainborough’s feet.
‘You two have met, I believe?’ said Mischa. His eyes were wide and serene, like those of a happy animal.
‘As you know,’ said Rainborough.
‘I like my friends to know each other,’ said Mischa. ‘Tell me, Annette, when did you say that your dear mother was coming to England?’
‘In the summer,’ mumbled Annette. She was looking down and refusing to meet Mischa’s gaze. He put his hand under her chin and lifted her head; and she gave him without concealment a look of yearning which made Rainborough turn away in embarrassment and surprise.
‘Do you think that Annette resembles Marcia, John?’ asked Mischa.
‘I’ve never met Marcia,’ said Rainborough sulkily.
Annette was relaxing. She was finishing her second drink. ‘What is this marvellous stuff?’ she asked.
‘You must excuse me a moment,’ said Mischa. He was staring at the door. Hunter and Rosa had just come in. Mischa rose slowly.
Hunter advanced into the room. He was very ill at ease and obviously blinded by the dim light, which contrasted with the bright room outside, and by the haze of cigarette smoke which now darkened the air. He caught sight of Peter Saward and clutched his arm with piteous desperation. Peter greeted him warmly and introduced him to people nearby. Rosa meanwhile stood stock still by the door and looked about for Mischa. She soon saw him and stood quite motionless, looking towards him intently. Mischa approached, and it seemed to the two who were watching a long time before he reached her. He took her hand and kissed it. Rosa said nothing, but turned and walked away to the farther end of the room, where there was an empty space. Mischa followed her, and they were to be seen a moment later in conversation. It was plain that they were both much moved. Rainborough looked at them. They seemed immensely distant and inaccessible. He looked at Annette, and once more had to turn away.
Some more people were arriving. The room was now quite full. Rosenkrantz and a rather dull woman who appeared to be his wife bore down upon Annette, asking news of her mother. Rainborough had another drink. He began to feel calmer and more detached. His hand, which had been hurting him considerably, was beginning to feel better too. Round about him the chatter was deafening. Through the throng he could see that the tapestry had been swept back at the far end of the room to reveal an open window. In the alcove so created, beside a a bright lamp, like figures on a stage he saw Mischa and Rosa with Peter Saward. Peter was sitting in a chair and leaning towards the window. Mischa and Rosa were looking down at him. Mischa was saying something with gestures.
Several drinks later Rainborough found that he was sitting on the floor. So were a lot of other people. A number of the celebrities seemed to have gone home, and the room was a little emptier, though the din seemed to be just as considerable. Close to him on the floor he discovered Mrs Rosenkrantz, who, it turned out, was not dull at all, but delightfully witty and attractive. As they talked, a familiar green skirt swept past, and Rainborough looked up to see Annette making for the mantelpiece like a shipwrecked man striking out for a raft. When she reached it she leaned against it heavily. She looked rather the worse for wear. Her face was flushed and her hair, which was usually unruly, was almost standing on end. There was a wild look in her eye. As she leaned there breathing deeply, Rainborough noticed Mischa, who was standing a little way off by himself and also watching Annette. It occurred to Rainborough at that moment that Mischa had been drinking nothing all the evening. He turned to explain this point to his companion. It turned out to be surprisingly complicated.
Annette was staring at the mantelpiece. In the centre of the shelf was a group of ivory figures of men and animals. She touched one or two of them gingerly with her finger. Then she became aware of Mischa. She straightened herself and patted her hair as he came towards her. A soft music was beginning in the background, and at the far end of the room someone was rolling back the carpet. A couple began to rotate slowly.
‘What these?’ said Annette, pointing to the ivory figures. Her voice didn’t seem to be quite under her control.
‘They’re called netsuke,’ said Mischa. ‘They were made in Japan in the eighteenth century. People used to wear them on their clothes.’
‘Was it magic?’ asked Annette.
‘No,’ said Mischa, ‘or only in the way in which magic can be part of ordinary life.’
Annette lifted one of them. It was an old man seated and leaning against a sleeping buffalo. She turned it upside down. It was carved underneath too, the man’s naked foot turned back, his figured robe, the fur of the animal. She put it down. Next to it was a girl seated on a clam-shell, then a boy with his arm round the neck of a goat, an old man with a rat on his shoulder, a woman holding a fish. Each one she saw, represented a human being with an animal.
‘You got real fish here,’ said Annette. ‘Let’s see the real fish.’ She turned suddenly and made for the fish-bowl. Mischa followed her. Annette looked at him from the other side of the bowl. She held the edge of it like someone about to do a hand-spring. Her eyes were flashing. Then she looked down at the fish. Intent upon their own concerns, the fish swam to and fro. The black sulky ones with the whiskers and the zebra-striped ones with the large fins swam slowly and lazily. The little shiny blue ones and the pale dog-faced ones swam quickly and nervously.
‘What’s that one?’ asid Annette, and thrust her hand into the water, pointing.
‘Don’t do that,’ said Mischa, ‘you frighten them, and you contaminate the water.’
Annette withdrew her hand. She stared at him for a moment. Then she plunged her whole arm into the bowl up to the elbow. The fish scattered in alarm.
Mischa did not move. ‘Don’t do that, Annette,’ he said.
Annette slowly drew her arm out. The water ran down her dress, making a dark stain. She looked dazed.
‘Come and dance,’ said Mischa. He drew her across towards the music.
The little demon, thought Rainborough who had been watching, she wanted to force him to touch her! He looked about for Rosa and saw her sitting by the window talking to Saward. Hunter was on the dance-floor. Rainborough was just turning back to Mrs Rosenkrantz, who, it was becoming apparent to him, had the most wonderfully large eyes, when an apparition appeared which seemed to be located directly above his head. This apparition, when it came into focus, turned out to be Miss Casement.
Rainborough, who had temporarily forgotten about Miss Casement, surveyed her with interest. It was evident that as far as the drink was concerned Miss Casement had not been wasting her time.
‘Sit down, sweetie,’ said Rainborough, ‘and let me introduce you to Mrs Rosenkrantz.’
‘No!’ said Miss Casement in a surprisingly clear voice. ‘You get up!’
Rainborough found himself on his feet. Mrs Rosenkrantz seemed to have been suddenly vaporized.
‘I must have some air!’ said Miss Casement. ‘I think there’s a window here behind the tapestry.’ She fumbled at a gap in the stuff.
‘Yes, so there is,’ said Rainborough. ‘Here, let me.’ He pulled the heavy material apart and they stepped through. The tapestry fell to behind them and they found themselves standing in a bay window. It was extremely dark. Rainborough pulled up the sash and leaned out. He was looking into some sort of garden. He wondered where in Mischa’s domain this garden could possibly be, and he tried to orient himself by the stars; but it was a cloudy night and the few stars that were visible did not announce any constellation that he could recognize. He drank in the cold night air. It was sobering.
‘Let’s sit down,’ said Miss Casement, ‘there’s a sofa here.
’
Trapped! thought Rainborough. He started to say ‘No, let’s — ’, but Miss Casement gave him a gentle push and he subsided on to the sofa. She sat down beside him. They looked at each other. Rainborough could see nothing of Miss Casement except the light reflected from her eyeball. Yet he knew, somehow, exactly what her expression was and exactly what she was going to do. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. She had been aiming at his mouth, but missed it in the darkness. She tried again and found her objective. Rainborough remained quite still. There was a raging confusion inside his head. The bitch, a voice was saying, the bitch. He leaned towards her and began to kiss her brutally and indiscriminately upon her face and neck. He had never felt before that kisses could be so much like blows. Miss Casement became limp and he felt her sighing breath in his face. Rainborough stopped and sat back in amazement. ‘John!’ breathed Miss Casement tenderly. She took his right hand and pressed it in a fierce grip.
Rainborough suddenly became conscious of his hand in a wave of pain which rushed straight up into his head. He gave a loud cry and dragged it away from her. His burnt palm was searing him as if it had been flayed. He jerked himself back and fell off the sofa with a crash. Then light was streaming in upon him, someone had pulled back the tapestry and faces were peering through.
‘Dear me!’ said Calvin Blick, ‘whatever is the matter? Have you seen a ghost? Why, you’ve got Agnes Casement in there with you! Having a bit of a wrangle, eh?’
Rainborough emerged, followed by Miss Casement, who was looking both dazed and furious and smoothing down her dress. She walked sharply away from Rainborough, who made a helpless gesture.
‘Never mind!’ said Calvin. ‘More fish in the sea. Let me show you a picture of my sister, the one who’s married to an engineer in British Honduras.’ He drew out his wallet.
‘I don’t want to see your beastly pictures,’ said Rainborough. He was looking at the dance-floor. Annette was still dancing with Mischa. Rainborough noticed that Rosa was leaning against the mantelpiece, fingering one of the French paperweights, and watching them closely. He thought that she looked very drunk. Peter Saward had evidently gone home.
At that moment Annette, who had been moving more and more sluggishly, suddenly threw her arms round Mischa’s neck and sagged violently with all her weight, trying to pull him to the ground. Mischa, with an agile movement, slipped his head out of the circle of Annette’s arms and she sat down heavily upon the floor. Several people laughed and began to help her up.
Calvin had taken out several photographs and was trying to attract Rainborough’s attention. But Rainborough was now staring at Hunter. The boy had left the dance-floor and was looking open-mouthed and with a poignant expression of terror at Calvin.
‘Here, look at this one!’ said Calvin to Rainborough. He seemed to have noticed Hunter’s terror and to be enjoying it.
‘What’s the matter with Hunter?’ asked Rainborough.
He received no reply, for after that things happened very fast. Annette had got to her feet and was standing holding on to Mischa. Rosa was staring at them. Hunter’s fear now rose to a frenzy. He could see Calvin holding up a photograph and waving it to and fro. He ran to his sister. ‘Rosa,’ said Hunter, in a tone of desperation. ‘Do something! Create a diversion! Faint, scream, do anything!’
Rosa looked for a moment into her brother’s terrified eyes. Then with a violent movement she turned and hurled the paperweight she was holding with tremendous force across the room. It caught the curving surface of the fish-bowl squarely in the middle and with a deafening crash the bowl broke into fragments. There was a silence in which the weary beat of the dance music was heard for a moment. Then everyone began to shout and precipitated themselves upon the remains of the bowl. The water spread in a great circle upon the floor, and within it the fragments of the paperweight were scattered like innumerable pieces of sugar cake. Suddenly fish seemed to be everywhere, gasping upon the carpet, clinging to the lamp-shades, sliding across polished tables, and wriggling upon chairs and settees. Helplessly, people began to pick them up and run about the room looking for somewhere to put them. Flowers were tossed away, and fishes snatched from cushions or plucked from under stampeding feet were hurled into the vases. One was dropped by mistake into a decanter of gin. Hands reached out and every hand clutched its coloured fish. Under the tables and chairs they scrambled to gather them up, and the room was full of cries.
‘Stop!’ said Mischa. He was still standing in the middle of the dance-floor. He was as white as paper, as if all the blood had left his body.
‘It’s no use,’ he said. ‘They will not survive.’ He turned and picked up a large china bowl which had contained biscuits. ‘Put them here,’ he said.
Silence fell again. The music had ceased. Everyone came to Mischa, bringing the fish, and laid them in the bowl. He stood there like a priest. The last one was brought. But still Mischa stood there, rigid and white. For a moment it seemed as if he was going to faint. Then Calvin Blick came forward and took the bowl from his hands. Mischa turned on his heel and left the room.
Everyone stood there paralysed. Then they began to look at each other guiltily. Annette, who had been standing perfectly still on the spot where Mischa had left her, her hand raised to her mouth, was suddenly galvanized into activity. She spun round madly towards Rosa. ‘You did that on purpose!’ she screamed.
Rosa, who was leaning against the wall looking completely bewildered, turned towards Annette — and as she turned Annette launched herself upon her like a young tiger. Amid scandalized cries the two women reeled and fell struggling to the floor. Rainborough and Hunter ran to separate them. Calvin was watching with glowing eyes.
Rosa was the stronger of the two. As soon as Annette touched her she felt an enormous power inhabiting her limbs. At that moment she could have killed Annette, tearing her in two like a putty figure. Never had she experienced such a profound satisfaction of anger and hatred. In an instant she had Annette by the throat and was pressing her head back while with the other hand she tore at the bosom of her dress. The material gave way with a terrible rending sound. Then Hunter was between them, blindly pushing Annette away, while Rainborough pulled the girl to her feet. Hunter helped Rosa, who got up more slowly.
Annette wrenched herself free from Rainborough, who was trying to hold her arm and to expostulate. She stood for a moment with closed eyes, holding up both hands to support the front of her dress which was torn as far as the waist. Then she opened her eyes, looked about her, and suddenly ran out of the room.
Rosa shook herself like a dog. Her hair, which had been loosened by the struggle, cascaded down her back. She had been cut in the arm by some of the broken glass on the floor. People gathered round her. As she stood there looking at the blood upon her arm her eyes slowly filled with tears.
Sixteen
WHEN Mischa had left the room, Annette had been in two minds about whether to run after him or to spring upon Rosa. Now having done the one, she had no thought but to do the other. She ran through the door and found herself in an empty room. She ran straight through a door on the other side and into another room out of which a flight of stairs led down. She ran down the stairs and then paused to listen. All the rooms were brightly lighted, but there seemed to be complete silence in the house. Then somewhere away to her right she heard a door closing. The room in which she stood gave her no access in that direction. She ran straight ahead into the next room, and found a door on the right side. She ran through another set of rooms, breathless, her feet scarcely touching the surface of the soft carpets; then a final doorway suddenly and unexpectedly let her out into the street.
After the lights within it was very dark, and the night was enormous and silent with an intensity which for a moment made her pause in awe. She was in an unfamiliar street. It was a damp night, with rare stars. It was not raining, but it had been, and a street lamp some way off streaked the roadway with reflections. Annette began to walk slowly towards
the lamp. Her thin-soled shoes stuck to the pavement at every step.
As she neared the lamp she saw a figure ahead walking slowly. With a mixture of terror and triumph she slackened her pace. For a while Mischa walked on, and Annette followed twenty paces behind him. He was carrying his jacket and had rolled up his shirt sleeves, and walked with his head thrown far hack. She did not dare, she had no wish even, to catch him up. To walk in this way behind him seemed to Annette already a sufficient marvel. She walked after him softly, resolutely, tenderly, like a hunter; and after a minute she knew that he had heard her footsteps. She walked on in a dream with both hands clasped at her bosom to keep the torn dress in place.
After another minute he paused, and without looking round he made a curious gesture with one hand which Annette understood at once. Eagerly she sped forward and as she caught him up he drew her against him and they walked on so for a while with Mischa’s arm about her shoulder. Annette was in a daze of beatitude. There was no one in the streets, which were silent except for the soft sticky sound of their footsteps and the irregular tap-tap of water dripping from the trees. Wet leaves leaned down above their heads. A drop of water fell on to Annette’s shoulder and ran down between her breasts. They walked through a square. The dripping sound, which at another time would have made Annette sad, seemed to her now the very voice of the spring. The air was soft and warm and the springtime was falling off the trees and rolling in cool drops upon her skin. Then suddenly there was a clear distant sound, and then another — and then again the silence.
‘A bird!’ said Annette.
‘Yes,’ said Mischa.
‘Why, it’s morning!’ said Annette.
She looked up, and the sky was changing to a dark overcast grey. She turned towards Mischa and found that now she could just see his face. He looked so melancholy that Annette wanted straightaway to take him in her arms. She felt, and with it a deep joy, the desire and the power to enfold him, to comfort him, to save him. She stopped walking and turned to face him. Mischa withdrew his arm from her shoulder and looked at her or past her with a patient vacant look. Now that the contact between them was broken Annette did not dare to touch him; with a gesture of helpless abandonment she let her hands drop from her bosom and the torn bodice of the dress fell towards her waist revealing two extremely round and white breasts. For a moment Mischa stood and contemplated her, as she rose like a mermaid out of the sea-green sheath of her dress. Then he sighed and very gently stretched out one hand and drew a finger down the outside contour of one breast.
