Iris Murdoch - The Book And The Brotherhood

Gerard? Jean and Duncan? Who were these people? Rose tried to concentrate. 'Very soon, I think, Tuesday or Wednesday day, that's what Jean said when I rang her yesterday evening,

`I'm so glad, I thought they might be afraid to show their faces in London. Look, could we have supper this evening, at your place, or I'll take you out?'

`I'm sorry, I can't.'

`Lunch then.'

`No, I've got to see someone -'

`Ah well – it's short notice, I'll try again. Darling, are you sure you're all right?'

`Yes, of course. Thanks for ringing. I'll give you a ring soon.’

Rose, who had no engagements that day, returned to the table. She thought, I am out of my mind. It is impossible, because of Gerard, because of Jean, for me to have any relation of any kind with Crimond. If I were to go round to his house now, which is what I want to do more than anything in the world, I am capable of falling into his arms, or at his feet. I ought to be locked up, I must lock myself up. This is dangerous insanity and I must get over it. Perhaps I could just send him the letter though – just the letter to take away that awful impression, to make peace somehow between us, otherwise I shall be in pain forever, thinking of what he must think of me, I could cut out the bit about seeing him again. But of course he might take the letter as encouragement, he might come again simply turn up. Oh how I wish he would! She went back to I the table and took up an envelope. Then she read the letter again and crumpled it up. Tears came into her eyes.

I pity him, she thought, that's what I must tell myself ever after. I love him, I love him, but it's no use. How can I make how can something like this happen so quickly? But it appened. – and it's impossible, it's deadly, it must simply popped and killed, I must drown these thoughts. The least itkness could make a catastrophe, a desolation. No one must know. How could I live if Gerard knew? If anything were oppen – it could only go wrong – and that would break me, it would break some integrity, some dignity, some pride, something by which'I live.I can't risk my life here. But, oh, what pain, a secret pain that will be with me forever. I must be faithful to my real world, to my dear tired old world. There is no new world. The new world is illusion, it's poison. God, I am going mad.

She went into her bedroom. She thought, and he wanted to fry me! She threw herself on the bed and wept bitterly.

During the short time when Rose was with them at Boyars, and Duncan had kept up a pretence of some sort of instant recovery. Rose had been amazed at their calmness. At dinner that evening they were able to be almost like their old selves. This was not a prearranged 'act', it was an instinctive facade set up to make endurable Rose's embarrassing pres, her status as a witness who would eagerly report what had seen in other quarters. It was necessar yto 'impress' Rose before she could be got rid of. Rose was duly impressed and described their achievement to Gerard; at once however she and Gerard set to work to correct any misleading rosy impression which might have been made. They agreed that the 'calmness' was itself an effect of shock, the 'jollity' to be compared with the nervous cheerfulness of bereaved people at funerals, who then go home to weep. They sketched out many trials and difficulties, and wondered whether the reunion would work at all. Perhaps it might even collapse at of through Duncan's uncontrollable resentment, or Jean's f1ight back to Crimond. Rose and Gerard did not however try imagine in detail what their friends were now up to, and did not continue their speculations beyond generalities; it was necessary to wait and see. Such temperance was characteristic of these two.

Rose had considered leaving Boyars at once, on the event of Duncan's arrival, but thought it wise to wait until the next morning just to see a little how things were going on. She thought her presence, just at first, might be helpful, imposing a calming limiting formality. She had asked Annushka make up a bed in the room at the back of the house which Duncan had occupied on the weekend of the skating. She said nothing about this and did not attempt to discover where I had spent the night. In fact Duncan had spent that night by himself in that room. After the first discovery that 'they did not hate each other', Jean and Duncan fell into an a amazing shyness, a kind of' mute fear, a time of not uncomfortable silences, when sitting in the same room was enough. They were soon aware, and as a short prospect this was a relief (so Rose was right), that they were simply waiting for Rose to go. At lunch, even at tea, there was an air of slightly crazy cheerfulness, but at dinner they were acting a part. They sat with Rose briefly after dinner, then disappeared saying, truly enough, that they were 'absolutely exhausted'. As soon as they were out of sight Rose ran to her bedroom up the back stairs so as not to pass Jean's room, noisily closed her door, and exhausted too, went early to bed and to sleep. The scene in Jean's room was brief too. Jean and Duncan wanted a rest from each other. They were aware too of the proximity of Rose. They hardly needed words to agree that tonight they would sleep apart. Duncan, also using the back stairs so as no to pass Rose's room, which lay between, tiptoed to his forme bedroom, not surprised to find the bed made up and the room warm. Jean took one of Dr Tallcott's slee pin g pills and went to sleep at once. But Duncan stood for a long time in the darkness at the window. At first he did not turn on his light because he was waiting for Rose to turn out hers. He could see the faint glow of her light on the lawn and on the curving wall of the turret. But when it went out he stayed there standing in the dark. He opened the window and let in the chill but moist air which even carried very faintly the smell of wet earth. The rain had ceased and a few stars were visible. He stood at the window uttering deep breaths like little soundless sobs. He felt the exalted anguish of a man in a spiritual crisis who is struck down by a sudden visitation, a mixture of shock, prostration, fear, and a weird painful joy. He was glad to be alone and able to tremble and gasp over it all. His irritable coldness to Gerard with Jenkin had not been entirely simulated. He had to stay cool, to stay cold, so as not to expect too much, not to expect anything, not to imagine the future at all; and he was helpfully, annoyed by the gleeful faces of his friends bringing the good news and expecting him to be excited and grateful. He had inhibited his hopes, deliberately feared the worst, even nursed his old huge resentments, and did not know until he wits actually in Jean's presence that he still absolutely loved her, and that she at least sufficiently seemed to love him. That wits enough of a miracle to rest upon for one night at any rate.

Rose breakfasted earl ythe next morning, and said goodbye her guests who duly came down and seemed to be orderly and sane, and for whom Annushka's more elaborate breakfast rangements were now waiting. The sun was shining upon wet garden. The ywaved Rose off; but before the sound of car had died away Jean broke down. She ran upstairs and locked herself in her bedroom. Duncan, outside, could hear her sobbing h ysterically. At intervals he knocked and called. He was not impatient. He sat down on the floor in the corridor and waited. Annushka brought him a chair and a cup of coffee. Duncan sat, listening to Jean weeping, a kind of resigned calm descended on him. He would have preferred to sit on the floor, but had to sit on the chair out of politeness to Annushka.

At last the door was opened. Jean unlocked it, then rushed back to the bed and lay there crying more quietly. Duncan looked round the familiar room, where the wood fire was blazing brightly. He noticed, which he had scarcely taken in yesterday, the demoted picture and the rectangle of blue paper. He picked up the octagonal table, decanted the books upon it onto the floor, put it beside one of the windows and placed two upright chairs beside it. Then he went to the hvil, sought for Jean's two hands, pulled her up and led her to the table. They sat, half facing each other, half facing the sunlit view over little green hillsides, some distant village houses and the tower of the church. As soon as Duncan seized her Jean stopped crying. She sat now with her hands palm downwards on the table, her lips parted, her face wet, her hair tousled, looking away out of the window. She was still wearing Rose’s tweed dress, but had taken the belt off. Duncan watched bet for a while in silence. Then he drew out a handkerchief ant leaned over and carefully dried her face. He drew his chat closer and began to caress her hands, and her arms, thrustiii back the loose sleeves of the dress, then to stroke down her hair, combing it out with his fingers. Jean began to sigh quietly, bowing her head to the rhythmical movement of his big heavy hand.