Iris Murdoch - The Sea, the Sea

All this passed through my mind during the time it took my fingers to undo the gate. I stepped slowly onto the path. The music ceased and a dog began to bark hysterically. I walked up to the door controlling my mind and already having fresh thoughts. The Greensleeves sacrilege meant nothing. Perhaps he liked the song and she had not been able to prevent its becoming a favourite. The recorder playing meant nothing. Obviously if she were intending to run she would be careful to behave as usual. Or perhaps the tune really had been intended as a sign to me? It was however already obvious that she was not alone. I rang the bell though the dog had made this unnecessary and his frenzied noise drowned the sound.

Hartley opened the door. She had her head thrown back in a way which gave her a proud air, but she was probably just agitated. She stared at me unsmiling, her lips parted, and I stared back, blushing hotly and feeling that my eyes were as round as saucers. I could somehow perceive that Ben was behind her at the open door of the sitting room. Even if I had planned some private communication for this moment it would have been impossible, we were both paralysed. The dog, a slinky black and white collie with a long nose, was now at Hartley’s feet, still barking.

Against the din I said, ‘Good afternoon’ and Hartley said, ‘Kind of you to come.’

I moved in. The smell of the roses, of which there were several vases even in the hall, mingled with the stuffy stench of the house, a sweetish sickly fussy interior smell like the smell of a very old woman’s room.

Hartley said ‘Be quiet!’ to the dog who finished its barking in its own time and then began to sniff me and wag its tail. Ben said from the sitting room, ‘Come in.’

I walked on in. The picture window displayed the sloping meadow and the rise of the blue sea receding into a heat haze and never had a pretty view looked so sinister. The two recorders lay on the wide white window sill, beside the field glasses.

‘Sit you down,’ said Hartley. I noticed she was almost smart today. She had had her hair waved into a respectable mop, and was wearing a straight plain blue shift dress over a blue and white striped blouse. She looked younger and healthier. She said, ‘Would you like to sit there, or there?’

I sat down in a low chair with wooden arms, avoiding the tub chair I had got stuck into before.

An elaborate tea had been laid out on a little round table and on a plate stand. There was bread and butter, scones, jam, some kind of sandwiches and an iced cake.

‘I’ll wet the tea,’ said Hartley and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me with Ben.

Ben, still standing, busied himself with the dog. ‘Chuffey!’ This was evidently the animal’s name. ‘ Chuffey, come here. Good dog. Now sit down. Sit. ’ Chuffey sat, and Ben then seated himself, by which time Hartley had returned with the tea and Chuffey had got up again.

‘Let it mash a bit,’ said Ben.

Hartley shook the teapot and said, ‘It’s all right,’ and to me, ‘milk, sugar?’

‘Thanks, yes, both.’

‘You don’t mind milk in first? A sandwich? Or something with jam? The cake’s home-made but not in this home, I’m afraid!’ Hartley poured out the tea.

‘Sandwich, thanks. I love your view.’ This remark was totally automatic, I was almost unconscious with emotion.

‘Yes, it’s fine,’ said Ben. He added, ‘Fine.’ Then to Chuffey, ‘Sit! Good boy.’ He gave him a piece of sandwich.

‘You spoil him!’ said Hartley.

‘That’s the dog from Amorne Farm, isn’t it?’ I said, the automatic machinery still working. I then wondered if I was supposed to know that, then thought, it doesn’t matter.

‘Yes, they breed them,’ said Ben. ‘Good little chaps, Welsh collies. This fellow never cottoned on, though, no good with the sheep, were you, Chuff? You weren’t going to waste your time with those silly sheep, were you, boy?’

Chuffey sprang up again wagging his tail.

I had placed my suitcase on the floor beside me and on top of it the paper bag with Hartley’s make-up and my razor blades. I put down my cup, opened the case, put the bag inside and closed the case. I was afraid that Ben would somehow see or intuit what was in the bag. Ben and Hartley watched me.

‘I was interested to meet your army brother,’ said Ben. Hartley could not have discussed my family situation in any detail. Monsters do not have families.

‘He’s my cousin.’

‘Oh yes, cousin. What’s he in?’

‘King’s Royal Rifle Corps.’

‘Green Jackets.’

‘I mean Green Jackets.’

‘Is he still staying with you?’

‘No, he’s gone back to London.’

‘I wish I’d become a regular soldier,’ said Ben.

‘It might be rather dull in peace time,’ said Hartley.

‘I wish I’d done that,’ said Ben. ‘You really know people in the army. You get around. Still it’s nice to be at home too.’

‘Very nice.’

‘How’s your house?’

‘Rain got in.’

‘It did rain, didn’t it.’

‘Have another sandwich,’ said Hartley. ‘Oh, you haven’t eaten that one.’

I clutched the sandwich. I crushed it and some cucumber sped out onto the floor. I started to put the sandwich in my pocket. I said, ‘I am so sorry-I am so sorry about-about-’

‘About Titus,’ said Ben. ‘Yes. So are we.’ He paused, then added, ‘It was one of those things.’

‘It was a tragedy,’ said Hartley. She spoke as if this was some sort of definitive description.

I went on desperately. I wanted to drag us all down into some common pool of feeling, I wanted to stop this conventional machine of awful insincere politeness. But I could not find suitable words. I said, ‘I feel it was my fault-I can’t-I shall never-’

‘Of course it wasn’t your fault,’ said Hartley.

‘It certainly wasn’t your fault,’ said Ben judiciously. ‘It’s more likely to have been his fault.’

‘I can’t bear it, I can’t believe it, I-’

‘We have to bear it and believe it,’ said Hartley. ‘It has happened. It’s no use talking.’

‘No, it’s no use talking,’ said Ben. ‘Like in the war. Something happens, you go on. You got to, eh?’

Hartley was sitting with her hands on her lap. She did not look at me as she spoke. She shifted self-consciously and patted her soft orderly bush of hair. She was wearing no lipstick and her tanned face showed no sign of make-up. She had unbuttoned the neck of her stripped blouse to reveal her sunburnt neck and collarbones. She looked sleeker, cleaner and better cared-for than at any time since our reunion.

Ben too I noticed had an almost prosperous air. He was wearing a clean shirt with a wide stripe and a matching tie. He had a loose brown summer jacket with lighter brown trousers and new-looking white canvas shoes. His shirt-clad stomach bulged comfortably over his tight leather belt. His short school-boy hair was smoothly combed and he was cleanly-shaven. He had a curious expression of distant calmness on his face. His eyelids drooped a little and his short upper lip was tensed, drawn up in a kind of poised fastidious manner. He too did not look at me. He had eaten several sandwiches during the previous exchanges.

‘I suppose so,’ I said, in answer to Ben’s question.

‘Let me give you a serviette,’ said Hartley, ‘you’ve got your hands all sticky.’ She took a paper one from a drawer and handed it to me.

‘You going to spend the winter here?’ said Ben.

They had evidently finished with the subject of Titus.

I could not blame them. Why should they display their emotions to me? They had to recover from that death in their own way. They were relieved that the subject had been mentioned between us and could now be dropped. Possibly that was the point of the meeting.