Iris Murdoch - The Book And The Brotherhood

The most important thing which Duncan did not tell Jean, and which he felt she did not guess, was the violence and rocity of his hatred of Crimond. Of this he spoke to nobody. Of course it was taken for granted that Duncan loathed his rival. But as he and Jean gradually 'learnt' each other again, he felt that she, with enough to do struggling with her own darkened imagination, assumed that as Crimond receded I win her, he receded from Duncan too. It was not so. Of course Duncan continued to wonder whether Jean had really left Crimond voluntarily, and whether, on any day, if he were to whistle she would run back. These were doubts and speculations which, constituting an intelligible pain, he had to live with. His hatred for Crimond was something else, obsessive, primaeval, poisonous, deep, living within him like a growing beast, living with his life, breathing with his breath. He continually rehearsed the defeat in the tower room, and his last sight of Crimond in that shameful encounter in the dark eside the river. The fall down the stairs, the fall into the river, wful images of his cowardly weakness and his stupid graceess suffering. These things must be paid for. Of course he ov anted to settle down again with Jean, and his 'let us be happy’ had come from the heart. Sometimes that future was real, and he was pleased in her pleasure when they planned their treats and consolations. But at the same time there was another event in the future over which he brooded as over a precious dragon's egg, a dream which was becoming hid eously like an intention, the moment when he would go to Crimond and kill him.

Meanwhile, in the ordinary world, the pursuit of pleasure was taking the form of plans. Duncan still went to the office and was soon to be promoted to a high place, though not so high as that which Gerard had rejected, some said funked. No Duncan had lately decided to refuse this 'plum', to quit Whitehall and go and live in France with Jean, as she had always wanted to do. They agreed, for they often found relief in discussing their friends, that Gerard had been a fool in refuse the offer of great power, since he could do nothing wish his leisure and was idle and discontented. They were different, they would use their freedom to manufacture happiness. Much time was spent studying maps and house agents' brochure. They talked of old farmhouses to be restored and altered, of gardens and swimming pools and proximity to the sea. Meanwhile they 'went out' a good deal, to theatres and parties awl restaurants. They ate and drank well. Jean bought jewellery, dresses. They saw a modest amount of Rose and Gerard, and one evening went to a dinner party at Gerard's house, organised by Pat and Gideon, where Rose and Jenkin were present and a man from Duncan's office and his wife. Gerard declared he had given up entertaining since Pat had taken over Gulliver and Lily were invited, but Lily refused and Gulliver did not answer. Rose invited Jean and Duncan to lunch, but only Jean came, and talked about their recent weekend in Paris. Of course Duncan's old friends behaved with exquisite tact and intelligence, but they could not but seem to be inquisitive observers. At the dinner party Jenkin had mentioned Tamar, and said, without details, that she had been ill, but was better. This reference gave Duncan an uncomfortable feeling. Of course he had not forgotten that episode, but ho remembered it only in the way in which one recalls something whose status is that of 'being forgotten'. He thought of it and instantly dismissed it. He had not told Jean about it. It remained put away as something he would tell her one day, in err new life, in France, telling it casually, diminished into the almost nothing which it essentially was.

Gulliver had gotas far as King's Cross Station. It was nine o’clock in the morning and he had come to look at the timetables. He had fixed his departure for the following day. He had scrambled out of his flat the morning after his 'despair' session with Lily, fearing that she might turn up to dissuade him. Lily did in fact arrive just after he had left. He had now m staying for several days at a cheap lodging house, it could hardly be called a hotel, near to the station. He was encoured to find how easily, so far, he was putting up with the being-no-one and having-nothing of this new state of affairs was frightened too of course. He had delayed his departure ituse of matters, not yet entirely complete, to be settled with his landlord, with the new tenant who had bought some his furniture, with the man who had bought the rest of his furniture and some of his books. These latter transactions brought in a larger sum of money than he expected, so that, together with his s till existent savings, he could at least start his new life without being penniless.

He tried not to think about Lily. He felt he could do nothing about the 'Lily problem' and it was partly from that that he was running away. He had said sincerely that he loved her, he exceedingly touched that she said she loved him. But he dismayed by the talk of marriage. How could h emarry somebody like Lily, generally thought to be rather ridiculous,

rich tart'? He could not bear to be, and be seen to be financially dependent on her. He could not bear not having a job, especially when 'hanging around' with Lily, and in the proximity of Gerard whose attempts to get work for him had so consistently failed, and who perhaps blamed Gull for this lack of' success. He felt again his old childish feeling of' being th outsider, the misfit, the nonentity. He was indeed truly 'in despair', 'at the end of his tether', and had to get out of London to somewhere quite else where perhaps his luck would change Gulliver was serious in his resolve to embrace his misfit rot and 'be no one', yet all the same he could not help glimpsing himself in the future as someone, however poor and obscure using his talents and making a romantic marriage. Perhaps his pictures of himself as a retarded Dick Whittington did no exclude the 'girl in Leeds' to whom Lily had referred. Th mention of Leeds had brought up the problem, then not yet solved, of where he was actually going. Coming to King’s Cross was itself an act of decision. (In the interim he had considered France, Spain, India, Africa, America and Australia.) He had decided to go to Newcastle, influenced by the idea of being, where he had always wanted to be, beside the sea. His plans were not now quite as selflessly empty as they had been at first, he had stopped enacting his departure as if it were his death. What would he do when he emerge, from the station in Newcastle, a town which he had never visited before? Of course he would have to find some cheap digs where he could leave his suitcases. He had reluctantly left a lot of clothes behind, not with Lily but at a bookshop he used to frequent. It had been agony choosing which to leave. Wel then he would go to the local employment exchange, and then or perhaps first, ferret out where the little theatres were, the theatre workshops, the pubs which put on 'protest'shows. His Equity card was in his pocket. People content with very lift pay can sometimes turn up at theatres and get jobs. If he could get even a quarter of such a job he might also earn money as a waiter or a cleaner. All these extremities, which he had certainly considered, would have been psychologically much more difficult to face in London where he cared about appearances and had Lily to run to. In the north he could be, what I had essentially become, a poor man looking for ajob, an umployed person among others, a man in a queue. And if he was pr4epared to take anything surely he would find something.

It was extremely cold in the station, but Gulliver was wearing his best thick winter overcoat, an expensive garment designed to last forever, which he now regarded as a prime piece of his equipment. Looking away beyond the vaulted roofs where the rails led on into the grey and recent daylight, he saw that it was beginning to snow. He walked a little way along one of the platforms to inspect the snow and was reminded of'Boyars and the skating party and 'well done our aide'. If only that beautiful triumphant Lily could be the whole Lily! But he knew that love was not supposed to work like that. A huge diesel engine moved slowly past him and he tched the line of carriages, people at the windows, people, people, off to the north, off to the north. A child waved excitedly to him and he waved back. The station with its sombre yellow brick and its dimmed lights beneath its high arches was like a cathedral. It was also, it occurred to him, like huge stable where the engines, with their long yellow noses and their sad dark green eyes looked like big gentle beasts. Yet they were lethal beasts too who would guarantee a man tidden and certain death. Gull hurried back to the timetable boards. There was a good selection of trains, and he noted down some early ones. Grantham, Peterborough, York, Darlington, Durham, Newcastle. Newcastle, Dundee, Arbroath, Montrose, Stonehaven, Aberdeen… Where might not that long-distance train carry him in the end? At any rate it settled that tomorrow a particular train would take him away from his old life, perhaps forever. But I'm still in the old now, he thought, I can't yet imagine that all these great intentions, those brave gestures like giving up my flat, are real choices. It's not too late, I can still go back, I can ring up Lily, could have lunch together. Is my believing this what makes me able to look at a list of trains and choose one? It doesn't hurt yet like a real decision would. I'm still weighted down by old London life. I suppose there'll be a moment when the lance begins to tilt the other way, and another scene and other people will be real, and London and Gerard and Lily will be a dream. When will it come? When I get on the train, when the train starts, when it arrives, when I stand in the station al Newcastle and look for the exit, when I walk out into the street and wonder which way to go? Or later when I talk to someone who attends to me, even if it is only a man in an office? Or when I find a friend? Ah, a friend… Perhaps it will take a long time for the balance to tilt from south to north – or perhaps it will happen very quickly. Perhaps I shall meet someone on the train who will change my life.