Iris Murdoch - The Book And The Brotherhood

`Hello.'

`Gerard – it's me.'

`Oh – yes -'

`I'm at the hotel. Reeve is parking the car.'

`What is it?' He sounded remote and cold.

`Are you all right?'

`Yes, of course.'

`Is that boy still with you?'

`No, he had to go back.'

`Are you reading the book?'

`Crimond's book' No. I'm just going out.' `Oh – where to?'

`To get something to cat.'

`Will you read the book tonight?'

`I shouldn't think so. I'll go to bed.' `Gerard -'

`Yes.'

`I'll see you soon, won't 1?'

`Yes, yes. I must be off.'

`The rain has stopped.'

`Good. Look, I must go.'

`Goodnight, Gerard.'

He rang off. Of course the telephone always irritated hint But if only he had said, 'Goodnight, Rose.' She could have lived a while on that, as on a goodnight kiss.

Gerard, already in his overcoat, looked at the large parcel which was still where he had put it down on the chair in the hall. Of course Gerard had noticed the resemblance which had struck Rose as so frightening. Gerard too, in a different way, could not help sensing a meaning in the fact that just this messenger had come bringing just this object. Close to the boy, as he filled his glass with orange juice, he had a very odd quick flash of memory, the smell of young hair. Or perhaps it was simply the colour of the hair, so painfully reminiscent, its particular blondness, its lively growth and sheen, which he was perceiving and seeming to smell.

Now, alone with the object, he could not help seeing it as a fatal package – fatal to him, fatal perhaps to the world. For a moment he thought that, if this were the only copy, he would feel it his duty to destroy it.

Oh let there be not hate, but love, not pity, but love, not power, oh not power, no power except the spirit of Christ, prayed Father McAlister as with clasped hands, after pulling down the skirt of his cassock and setting his feet neatly together, he sat and watched the battle raging to and fro.

Violet's flat had been invaded, Violet was at bay. Tamar had invited Gideon and Patricia and Father McAlister to tea. No one had said anything to Rose or Gerard. The decision to rxclude these two had been a tacit one.

Pat was cleaning the kitchen. She had already been in Violet's bedroom and collected the mass of mouse-nibbled plastic bags into a sack, ready to be thrown away. The tea party had been taking place in Tamar's bedroom, where the lamps were switched on in the dark afternoon. Tamar had put it pretty cloth upon the folding table at which she used to study. Most of the tea things had been removed, even, by Pat, washed up. The ham sandwiches had attracted the priest, no One had touched the cakes. Gideon was in charge.

Violet,' he was saying, 'you must give in, you must let us look after everything, you must let me look after everything. We've been pussy-footing around for long enough, it's time for drastic measures. Can't you see that things have changed, it's a new era? How can we stand by and see you sink?'

`I am not sinking,' said Violet, 'thank you! And nothing has hanged except that Tamar has become cruel and has given up even trying to be polite to me. But that is our business. You and Patricia and this clergyman just walked in -'

`Tamar invited us.'

`This is my flat, not hers. I was not told or consulted -'

`You would have said no!' said Tamar.

`Evidently my views are of no account. I don't want to talk io you – I have asked you to go – I ask you again, please go!'

`They are my guests,' said Tamar, 'and they want to propose a plan, it's a good plan, so please hear it – you let us come to Notting Hill at Christmas time -'

`I was forced to come and I did not enjoy it.'

`Please understand, Mrs Hernshaw,' said the priest, 'that we mean well, we mean, as Tamar said, something good, we come in peace -'

`What sickening rubbish,' said Violet, 'and bringing this sentimental parson along is the last straw. You are all violent intruders, you are thieves, assassins, you smash your way into my privacy -' Violet was controlled, eloquent, only her voice at moments slightly hysterical.

`There are, as I see it,' said Gideon, 'two main points. The first is that Tamar must go back to Oxford. I should be glad if' we can regard this as settled.'

`I shall never allow Tamar to go back to Oxford.'

`Actually,' said Tamar, 'you can't stop me.'

Tamar was sitting on her divan bed, the others on chairs about the little table upon which now only the plate of sugary cakes remained. Father McAlister, who had wanted to eat a cake but had been prevented when the farce of tea was ended by the acrimony of the discussion, wondered if he could take one now, but decided not to.

Tamar, dressed in a black skirt and black stockings and a grey pullover, was conspicuously calm. Gideon had been watching her with amazement. She had hitched up her skirl over her knees and stretched out her long slender legs ina manner which he could not believe was entirely unconscious. She had ruffled her fine silky wood-brown green-brown hair into an untidy mop. She dressed as simply as before, probably in the same clothes, but looked different, cooler, older, and even in this scene more casual, certainly detached. Something has happened to her, thought Gideon, she has been through something. She's strong, she thinks it's now or never and she doesn't care whom she kicks in the teeth. She's quite got over that depression or whatever it was. It can't be just this simple-minded priest. Perhaps she's got a really splendid lover at last.

`I explained to you,' Violet went on, looking at her daughter venomously, 'that there is no money. I am still in debt. This flat costs money. Your grant never covered more than half of what kept you in luxury in that place. I need your earnings, we need your earnings. If Gideon has said otherwise he is a wicked liar. You have no sense of reality, you have let these people put fancy ideas in your head -'

‘I am going back to Oxford in the autumn,' said Tamar, fluffing up her hair and looking at Violet with a calm sad face. 'I've been in touch with the college -'

`I am certainly not going to pay for you!'

`Gideon will pay,' said Tamar, 'won't you, Gideon?'

`I don't want charity -'

`Certainly I will,' said Gideon, 'now, Violet, please don't shout. In fact Tamar is so economical that the grant will Imost cover her needs, I will pay the rest, and I will also pay our debts. I have – wait a moment – another suggestion to make which is that you should sell this flat -'

`I think this flat is beyond help,' said Patricia standing in the doorway. 'It's only fit to be burnt.'

`And that you and Tamar should move into our house,' said Gideon, 'into the flat we used to occupy -'

`It's a lovely flat,' said Patricia.

`We want someone there anyway just to keep an eye on the place when we're away, we wouldn't charge you anything -wait, wait – this could be, if you like, an interim move while we till see what we want to do next – but while Tamar's at Oxford -'

`You come here and suggest burning my flat,' said Violet, 'well, you can burn it with me in it. I'd rather live in hell than in your house.'

'Perhaps you are living in hell now,' said Father McAlister.

`If I am it is nothing to do with you, you loathsome hypocrite, I know your type, peering into people's lives and trying to control them, breaking up families, smashing things you don't understand! You all want to take my daughter away from me.'

`No l.' said Gideon.

`She's all I've got and you want to steal her -'

`No, no,' said Father McAlister.

`Well, you can have her! I ask her, I beg her, to stay here