Iris Murdoch - The Bell

“That’s Murphy’s supper,” said Nick,. “I was just going to give it to him. Doggy, your moment has come!” He decanted the meat off the dish on to the floor with a plop. It fell on to one of the newspapers. It was evident that other newspapers present had served a similar purpose. Murphy ceased his contemplation of Toby and began noisily to eat his supper.

“Mrs Mark must have had a fit when she saw this scene,” said Michael.

“She animadverted, as women do,” said Nick. They were looking at each other uneasily.

“She got Toby’s room ready?” said Michael.

“She did something upstairs which I assume was that. She was here an unconscionable time,” said Nick. “Have a drink.” He picked up the whisky bottle.

“No, thank you,” said Michael. “I think I’d better go. I just came to deliver Toby.”

“Don’t then, and go then,” said Nick.

Michael Meades still lingered, his eyes straying about the room. He looked as if he felt he had not conducted the encounter very well.

“How is my sainted sister?” said Nick, who also seemed to want to prolong the interview.

“She’s very well, very happy,” said Michael.

“When I am told that a person is happy,” said Nick,“I know that he is not. Of really happy people this is never said. Don’t you agree, Toby?”

Toby jumped nervously at being addressed. He had settled into being a spectator. “I don’t know,” he said.

“Toby doesn’t know,” said Nick. “Has the erring wife arrived?”

“Mrs Greenfield has come,” said Michael. “Well, I hope we’ll see more of you up at the house. I must be getting back now.”

“So you keep saying,” said Nick.

“Look after Toby,” said Michael.

Nick laughed, which made him suddenly look pleasanter, and opened the door ceremoniously for Michael, who, with an awkward gesture of farewell, disappeared.

“Incompetent,” said Nick, looking after him into the darkness. “Incompetent. Oh God!”

He turned to Toby. “I expect you’d like to go to bed, young man. They’ve probably told you to get up at a shocking hour. And it must be tiring at your age to meet such a bunch of crazies in a day.”

“I am tired,” said Toby. “I think I’ll go up.” He looked Nick firmly in the face, determined not to let him see that he was nervous.

“Up, yes,” said Nick. He turned to where Murphy, who had completed his supper, was standing meditating. “Up!” he shouted to the dog.

Murphy turned quickly and sprang into the air. Nick caught him in his arms and cuddled him against his chest. The dog’s paws and smiling jaws appeared over his shoulder.

“The great thing about a dog”, said Nick, “is that it can be trained to love you.” He leaned over the table to seize the neck of the whisky bottle, went slowly from the room, with Toby following, and began heavily to ascend the stairs, still hugging the dog against him, to a small landing with three doors.

“That’s the bathroom,” said Nick. “My room, your room.” He kicked open the door and turned the electric light on with his elbow.

Toby saw a neat fresh room, an iron bedstead with a white cover, rush mats on the floor, a white painted chest of drawers, the window open wide. The night air, warmer and smelling of flowers, came to them as they entered.

“It’s nice up here, isn’t it?” said Nick. He buried his face nuzzling in the dog’s fur.

Toby was embarrassed. He said “Thank you so much. I’ll be all right now.”

“Have a drink?” said Nick. “A little nightcap of whisky and water?”

“I don’t drink, thank you very much,” said Toby.

“Ah, well,” said Nick, “I wish I could say that we would teach you to drink deep e”er you depart. Spiritual draughts, perhaps.” He put Murphy down on the floor. The dog jumped up, pawing his trousers, wanting to be picked up again.

“I think I’ll leave you Murphy,” said Nick. “We’re a bit short of blankets. He’ll keep your feet warm in the early morning. Nothing like an extra dog on the bed. You stay here !” he said to Murphy, pointing.

“Thank you,” said Toby. He could have done without Murphy, who appeared to be a somewhat rébarbative dog. “I’ll be all right now.” He sat down on the bed. He felt exhausted and desperately wanting to be alone.

Nick stood at the door looking down at him. “I’ll tell you something funny before I go,” he said. “You’ve been put here to look after me.” He smiled, and looked once more pleasan-ter and younger.

Toby smiled back, not sure what to say.

“Well, well, we must look after each other, mustn’t we?” said Nick. “Leave your door open, in case Murphy wants to come out during the night. Good night to you.” He disappeared, leaving the door ajar.

Toby felt too tired now even to indulge in surprise and speculation. He went quickly to the bathroom, and returned to find Murphy sitting beside his bed. The monkey-like intelligence upon the dog’s face was unnerving, and he stared at Toby with a kind of tense immobility which seemed like the prelude to an attack. Toby thought he had better establish some sort of formal relations, and said “Murphy, good dog!” holding out a propitiatory hand. Murphy considered the matter and then licked his hand thoughtfully, looking up at him from under what seemed to Toby extremely long eyelashes for a dog. This reminded Toby that his master had extremely long eyelashes for a man.

Toby looked at the half open door of the room. The landing was dark outside and there were no more sounds in the house. Toby now wanted to say his prayers. He knelt down, one eye anxiously upon the door, but could not collect his thoughts. He got up and crossed the room. There was a bolt on the inside. Very quietly he closed the door and shot the bolt. It went in without a sound. He returned to the side of his bed and knelt again, closing his eyes. There was an immediate scratching noise. Murphy was at the door, his dry blunt claws digging at the crack. Toby jumped up and opened the door again, but the dog would not go out. He stood looking up at Toby with a stare of exasperating amiability; and when Toby went to kneel down for the third time Murphy came and stood beside him with imbecile at-tentiveness, breathing down his neck. Toby gave up. Too tired to do anything more he put the light out and crawled into bed, leaving the door ajar. He felt the jolt as Murphy jumped up beside him and the warm weight settling down on his feet. The heavy perfumed air blew in a gentle breeze through the room to the half open door. In a few minutes both boy and dog were fast asleep.

IT was the following morning. A rising bell had been rung soon after six, but Dora had learnt that it did not concern her, only those who were going to Mass. Paul had risen early, for work, not devotion. Feigning sleep, she had seen him writing at the trestle table which he had pulled up to the window. The pale sunny light of the early summer morning filled the room and from where she lay Dora could see the cloudless sky, almost without colour, the promise of another hot day. She remembered with distress that her summer frocks were lost with the suitcase and she must put on her heavy coat and skirt again.

Urged by Paul she got up just in time for breakfast at seven-thirty. The refectory of the community was the big room on the ground floor between the two stone staircases, with its doors opening on to the gravel terrace. Meals were taken in silence at Imber. At lunch and high tea one of the community read aloud during the meal, but this was not the custom at breakfast. Dora was pleased with the silence, which excused her from effort, except for such as was involved in the gesturing, pointing, and smiling, a certain amount of which went on, initiated especially by Mrs Mark and James. She consumed a good deal of tea and toast, looking out across the already baking terrace to where the lake could be seen fiercely glinting in the sun.