Iris Murdoch - The Book And The Brotherhood

When he saw the guns Duncan understood the scene, he understood the significance of the two long tables set end to end. He felt a quick cold death terror, a heavy pain alienating his body. Then a weird excitement like a sexual stirring. He came forward almost with an air of curiosity. Crimond had placed the revolvers side by side on the table. He was pair again and put his hand to his throat, undoing another button on his shirt.

`Smith and Wesson,' said Duncan. 'I suppose you got these in America?'

, Yes.'

`Single action.'

`Yes.'

`Do you still collect automatic pistols too?'

`Not – collect -' Crimond went to close the open door of the cupboard.

As this conversation proceeded Duncan thought about the hammer which was in the pocket of his overcoat on the desk. This now seemed like a dream weapon, something transparent to be wielded in slow motion. What fantasy of revenge had made him bring the thing, what was he supposing he would do with it, take Crimond unawares, as for instance when he had been closing the cupboard door, and smash hint between the shoulders? He could not do it. At the tower he could afford to let his anger carry him away. Now he was older, older, and Crimond seemingly as young as ever. There was no question of punching, wrestling. Yet was the dream hammer more unreal than what appeared to be happening now? He thought to himself, it's all make-believe, it must be. Jean said they did it for a joke with unloaded guns. Of course he wanted her to be frightened too. It's the same now. Anyway the weight of the cartridge always takes the loaded chamber down to the bottom so there's no risk, I've always known that. All the same, I won't do it. Of course the man is crazy, perhaps desperate.

`You see,' said Crimond in a low conspiratorial voice, 'what you said at the beginning wasn't entirely off the point. There is – between us – something to be done – something to be finished with – if we are not togoon obsessively thinking about each other for the rest of our lives, which I believe you would agree would be a sad waste of our time and energy. We want to be free of each other, yes? That was the psychology of duelling in the old days after all. Call what is necessary, if you like, an exorcism, a symbolic release. I want this, I need this, and I think that you, if you are honest, want it and need it too.'

`I'd like to kill you, if that's what you mean,' said Duncan. `But I'm not interested in your symbolism. If it's symbolic it's not serious, and if it's serious it's not what I want either. I certainly don't want you to kill me! Why should I play your game? I won't.'

`You will,' said Crimond.

Duncan hesitated, actually wondering whether he had now the strength to walk to the door and rattle the handle until Crimond deigned to open it. Would that be what happened? Could Crimond force him to 'play' by making some awful humiliation the alternative? Could it happen like that a third time? Suppose he had to beg Crimond to let him go? Duncan, who had imagined all kinds of complicated traps, had let himself be caught in the simplest. Also however, and this dangerous thought strengthened his hesitation, he saw Crimond's point, and its meeting with his point. Something had to be done, to be finished, oh to finish with Crimond! Could this be done except by killing him? This was a question Duncan had often asked himself, but only as a rhetorical question commanding the answer no. Now common sense, suddenly entering through some amazing hole in the mad argument, informed Duncan that if he did ever actually kill Crimond he would be even, infinitely, more tied to him than he was at present. Duncan, in his 'speech', had suggested a symbolic solution to the problem, even that the problem was already solved. He had spoken impromptu under a particular emotional pressure and with an immediate end in view, to escape quickly from a situation into which he should never have entered. Whether he could believe that that solution would have worked seemed an academic question now that Crimond had proposed a far more radical, so perhaps more efficacious, cure. Would a symbolic killing, at the cost of exposing himself to Crimond's anger, bring about the desired freedom? Duncan was attracted, as Crimond had no doubt calculated that he would be, by Crimond's formulation. They were, as things stood now, bound to each other as men who, clasped together as each tries to drown the other, both drown.

Crimond, having pushed the guns aside, was now sitting on the table watching Duncan. He said, 'Yes?' It sounded almost like a sexual invitation.

`Describe your game,' said Duncan.

Crimond gave a long sigh.

Duncan, feeling himself entangled, indeed entangling himself, thought, as a rearguard support to what happened to be his decision, that of course Crimond, following the same chain of argument which Duncan had just followed, would not really want to kill Duncan! The extreme solution would not be a solution. What was required was an extreme symbolism. That's what made the Greeks write tragedies, Duncan found himself thinking. I'll tell that to Gerard one day. He also found himself thinking that if he left now, even if he were able to do so with dignity, he would regret this last chance for the rest of his life. Well, that was like sex too.

`It's very simple,' said Crimond, 'and traditional. Each gun has, out of'six chambers, one loaded. We face each other, one at each end of the room, we spin and fire.'

`We fire at each other.'

`Of course, it's not a suicide pact. And of course we must aim to kill. It's not all that easy to be sure of killing someone even at this distance unless one is very experienced with firearms, which fortunately you are. You are familiar with this type of gun of course. Remember it's very light on the t rigger.'

`Yes, yes. How many times do we fire?'

`I envisaged twice, that is assuming. But as many times as you like.'

`Twice, all right.'

`A shot which is not properly aimed is not counted.' `Agreed.' He thought, we are both mad! What sort of onversation is this?

`Another thing, which I hope you will approve of. For bsolute fairness the chambers must be of equal weight, therwise, as we all know, the loaded one tends to descend. I ave therefore tamped some spent cartridges with lead, makng them the same weight as live cartridges, and put them in e other five chambers. Look.'

Crimond broke open one of the guns and thrust it towards uncap.

`Fine, fine.' Duncan waved it away.

`Would you like to examine the guns?'

`No. Let's get on.' It would be indelicate to examine the ups especially if, as he was assuming, neither was loaded!

'We had better toss for position, though there's no differnce in the light, and of course for who fires first.'

Duncan brought a coin out of his pocket and handed it to Crimond. Crimond said, 'Who wins has the target end.' Duncan said 'Heads.' Crimond tossed the coin, it fell heads. Crimond handed the coin back to Duncan. Duncan said, Who wins fires first.' Crimond said 'Tails.' Duncan tossed the coin, it fell tails. Crimond placed the guns on the tables, one at each end of the room.

After that they stood still, looking at each other. Duncan could feel his heart beating, his hands sweating. He could heat his breath and Crimond's breath. Was this a moment at which perhaps…?

Crimond said in the same soft silky almost ingratiating voice which he had used in the later part of their conversation, `Of course, if we had seconds, which we have not, it would he their duty at this point to ask us both if the engagement was really necessary, if we could not agree, even at this late stage, not to fight. Should we not, in order to make this event crystal clear, act now as our own seconds?'

For a moment Duncan wondered: is this what it's all for? Did he mount the whole play in order to end it like this? He fell angry and also appalled at this sudden last-minute opening, when he had thought to be finished with decisions. 'That would amount to a reconciliation. No. Certainly not. You know that is impossible.'