Iris Murdoch - The Bell

“Yes,” said Mrs Mark, blushing with excitement. “We just thought we’d deck it up a little.”

“Very pretty too,” said the Bishop. “You are Mrs Strafford I believe? And you are Mr Meade?” he said to James. “I’ve heard so much about you from the Abbess, bless her.”

“Oh no,” said James. “I’m James Tayper Pace.”

“Ah!” said the Bishop. “You are the man who is so sorely missed in Stepney! I was there only a few weeks ago at the opening of a new youth centre, and your name was often taken in vain. Or rather, not in vain. What an absurd expression that is, to be sure! Your name was mentioned, most fruitfully I’ve no doubt, and with positively devout enthusiasm!”

It was James’s turn to blush. He said, “We ought to have introduced ourselves. I’m afraid we make you a very poor reception committee, sir. This is indeed Mrs Strafford. This is Mrs Greenfield. Michael Meade is just coming across the grass with Dr Greenfield. And I’m afraid I don’t know this gentleman.”

“Noel Spens, from the office of the Daily Record ,” said Noel. “I’m afraid I’m what they call a reporter.”

“Why, splendid!” said the Bishop. “I hoped some gentlemen of the press might be present. Did you say the Daily Record ? You must excuse me, I’m such a deaf old codger now, practically incommunicado on this side. May I ask if you were put on my track by my old crony Holroyd? I believe he now edits your distinguished rag.”

“That’s correct,” said Noel. “Mr Holroyd got wind of this picturesque ceremony and sent me along. He sends you his greetings, sir.”

“An excellent fellow,” said the Bishop, “in the best traditions of British journalism. I have always thought the Church was foolish to shun publicity. What we need is more publicity, of the right kind, of course. Perhaps I may say of this kind. What’s that? No, I won’t eat anything now, thank you. I’ll just have the good old English cup of tea, if I may. Since my trip to America I value it more than ever. Then we might proceed perhaps to our little service, if the clans have mustered? And have the feasting afterwards. I see a board or two groaning with goodies in there.”

Michael and Paul had stopped again, just below the steps to the terrace, still talking. They began to walk back towards the causeway. Mrs Mark watched them with a look of despair, Dora with one of appalled apprehension. The Bishop was given a cup of tea. Noel chatted to him affably about members of the Athenaeum known to both of them. James stood beside them, smiling and rather shy. Father Bob Joyce, bearing with undignified haste what later turned out to be a stoup of holy water, placed it upon the table, and fussed round the bell, waving to the great man with the distant familiarity of one of the elect determined to let lesser men have their chance to be presented. Mrs Mark made little dashes into the refectory, keeping one eye on Michael, and keeping up an agitated discussion with Father Bob. Peter Topglass arrived with his camera, and joined the conversation with the Bishop, with whom it appeared he was already acquainted. Dora stood gloomily picking at one of the white ribbons on the bell. Her nervous plucking undid the tacking threads and the ribbon streamed out in the wind, which had not abated. Toby emerged, looking sulky, from the stable yard and was seized by Mrs Mark and introduced. James asked Mrs Mark for a cup of tea and was told in a whisper that they had better not start using the cups now as there were only just enough to go round once and no time to wash them up after the service. Patchway appeared and started complaining to James about the depredations of the pigeons until called to order by Mrs Mark and told to remove his hat. Catherine came down the steps from the house. She was wearing one of her London dresses and seemed to have taken some trouble with her appearance. A neat tight bun was fixed high at the back of her head and the curly locks which usually straggled over her brow had been cut short. Her face now seemed abnormally long and pale, and her smile, when she was presented to the Bishop, though sweet, was brief. She stepped quickly back and leaned against the balustrade, seeming to fall into a reverie, forgetting where she was.

“Well, dear friends,” said the Bishop, “perhaps we could begin our little baptism ceremony. I gather you approved of my suggestions about the order of the service. I’m glad you didn’t think I was being too archaic and popish! I think we might end with psalm a hundred and fifty, by the way. And I propose to leave out the Collect. I must say, I don’t trust this sky not to pepper us with hailstones at any moment – so let us proceed at once. As my unfortunate congregation will have to kneel I suggest we descend from the gravel to the grass. I’m afraid my leech has prohibited genuflexion for me TFO, as we used to say in the army. Might I ask which of you are going to act as sponsors, or shall I say godparents, to the bell?”

“That will be Michael and Catherine,” said Mrs Mark.“Please excuse me one moment and I’ll fetch Michael.” She ran down the steps from the terrace.

Michael and Paul, still deep in conversation, were now walking back again from the causeway. Dora watched them anxiously. She avoided looking at Noel who was trying to catch her eye. They all descended the steps and stood about on the slope rhat led down to the ferry.

Mrs Mark was coming back with Michael and Paul. Dora disposed herself on the other side of the group from where Noel was standing. Michael was brought forward and could be heard apologizing to the Bishop. Catherine was ushered to the front. Mrs Mark was hastily attaching two very long extra ribbons to the bell. Then she hurried down and stood near Dora. Paul came up to Dora, looked her savagely in the eyes, his face screwed up to a point of suppressed fury, and then stood beside her, staring straight in front of him. The company disposed itself in two straggling rows with Michael and Catherine standing alone in front like a bridal pair. The Bishop mounted to the terrace. He took in one hand the two long ribbons which led to the bell. In the other he held an object, unfamiliar to Dora, which he dipped into the stoup of holy water. At a signal from Father Bob, the voices of James, Catherine, and the Straffords joined in the chant. Asperges me, Domine, hyssopo et mundabor. Lavabis me et super nivem dealbabor . The Bishop began to cast the holy water onto the bell, making long dark streaks upon its white dress.

Dora observed with horror that Noel had come across and had somehow got himself next to her on her other side. She dared not look at Paul. She gazed glassily ahead, aware of the bell high above them on the terrace, its tent-like canopy audibly flapping. The sun came and went on the grass like a signal flash, and the wind tore at the Bishop’s cassock, revealing a pair of smart black trousers beneath. The chant was ended, and the Bishop leaned forward to address Michael and Catherine. He said, “What name do you desire to put upon this bell?”

After a pause, in a high and nervous voice, Catherine replied, “Gabriel”.

The Bishop descended two steps and gave the ends of the white ribbons, one each, to Michael and Catherine to hold. Then he said, still speaking to them, “Let as remember that the voice of Christ calls us at times to forsake earthly cares to sit at His feet and learn of higher things. Let this sign be consecrated and sanctified in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, Amen.” He ascended the steps again and faced his small congregation. “The name of this bell is Gabriel. Now let us pray.”Everyone knelt down on the grass.

Paul reached out and took Dora’s hand. He held it close, masterfully, pressing it without tenderness. Dora suffered this pressure for a while. Then it began to be hateful to her. She tried quietly to withdraw her hand. Paul held on. She began to pull. Paul gripped harder and twisted her wrist. Dora began to shake. A fou rire had got hold of her. She pressed her lips together so as not to laugh aloud. The Bishop’s voice droned on. Tears of suppressed half hysterical mirth began to course from her eyes. With her other hand she reached into her pocket and pulled out her handkerchief.