Iris Murdoch - The Book And The Brotherhood

`It's time for lunch,' said Duncan. 'There are other pleasures!' Jean always argued that the most perfect time was that of the aperitif. He rose to his feet while jean remained, listening to the parting boat and gazing at the sea.

As he got up Duncan put his hand into the pocket .of his old tweed jacket and felt something in there, something round and very light and insubstantial. He drew it out. It was a small reddish ball of' what looked like interwoven silk or thread. Duncan suddenly felt himself' blushing violently. It was of course that ball of Crimond's hair which, such an infinitely long time ago, he had picked up from the floor of their bedroom in the tower in I reland. He opened his hand and let the thing fall to the ground where it lay fora moment at his feet upon the pavement. The faint breeze moved it, rolling it very slowly against the iron leg of a coffee table. He had an impulse to pick it up again. Should something so fateful be allowed to vanish into the rubble of the world? It began to move away towards the road where it was swept into the wake of a passing car. After the car had passed he thought he could still see it lying in the roadway.

Jean was getting up. 'Let's go and look at those tiles after lunch.'

They went into the restaurant. Duncan felt pity for himself and wondered if he would soon die of cancer or in some strange accident. He did not feel unhappy, perhaps death, though not imminent, was indeed near; but it was now as if he and death had become good friends.

`We never found that Stone in the wood,' said Lily. `What stone?' said Rose.

`The old standing stone, the ancient stone. I know it's there.'

`There's an eighteenth-century thing with a Latin inscription but it's quite small. I don't think there's anything prehistoric, if that's what you mean.'

`The Roman Road runs along a ley line.'

`Oh really?'

`That's why Jean's car crashed.'

'Why?'

`Ley lines are charged with human energy, like telepathy, so they collect ghosts. You know what ghosts are, parts of people's minds out of the past, what they felt and saw. Jean saw a ghost – probably a Roman soldier.'

`She said she saw a fox,' said Rose. `People don't like to admit they've seen ghosts. They think they'll be laughed at – and they're afraid to – ghosts don't I] k, to be talked about and ifyou see one you just know that.'

`Have you ever seen one?'

`No, I wish I had. There must be ghosts at Boyars.'

`I hope not,' said Rose, 'I've never seen anything.' She di; I not like this talk of ghosts.

`I always thought I'd see a ghost ofjames, but I never did.'

‘James?'

`My husband – you know, he died and left me the money.' `Of course you were married – I'm sorry -'

`I don't feel I was married. It was all over so quickly. And poor James was like a ghost when he was alive.'

`Do you often think about him?'

`No. Not now.'

Rose felt she could not pursue this any further. She said, 'So there's no news from Gulliver?'

No,' said Lily, 'not a word. He's in Newcastle. Anyway that's where he said he was going. By now he may be anywhere, Leeds, Sheffield, Manchester, Edinburgh, Aberdeen, Ireland, America. He's given up his flat, he's gone. He's disappeared forever, that's what he wanted to do, he often said so, to go right away and leave no trace.'

`I expect he'll write soon.'

`No he won't. If he'd been going to he would have done already. He said it would be an adventure. He's probably met someone else by now. I've lost him. Anyway I don't want him any more, to hell with him. I'll make a wax image of him and drop it in the fire – like – like a guy I saw on Guy Fawkes day, it was like a real person, it lifted its arms up, oh it was awful -' Tears came into Lily's eyes and her voice gave way.

Rose and Lily were walking round the garden at Boyars. It was evening, a damp fragrant evening, almost a spring evening, though the weather was still cold. Low storm clouds, thick, bulging, dark and yellowish, with brilliantly white serrated edges, were moving towards the east, leaving behind a clear transparent reddish sunset. It had been raining most of' the day, but now the rain had ceased. Rose and Lily were wearing overcoats and wellingtons. Lily had rung up Rose to lied if anyone had heard from Gull (which they had not) and had been rather tearful over the telephone. Rose, sympathetic, had invited her to Boyars. It was not in fact a very convenient time. Annushka, suffering giddy spells, was in hospital for some tests. Mousebrook seemed to be ill too, or perhaps just moping; after all he was really Annushka's cat. Boyars had a deserted feeling, as if the soul of the house, filled with foreboding, had already fled. Perhaps it knew that Boyars would soon be empty, ruined, or changed into a quite different house with a different soul. Rose, walking about in it, had begun to wonder whether she had ever really lived there.

The daffodils were in flower, a pale patch on the edge of the shrubbery. The crows, after spending the day in warfare with the magpies, were cawing upon the highest branch of a still leafless beech tree, outlined against the radiant red sky. Rose and Lily were walking along inthe wet grass beside one of the borders where early violets stained the earth beneath the budding shrubs.

`Tamar seems much better now,' said Rose, anxious to get Lily off the subjects of Gull and the supernatural.

The reference to Tamar did not seem to please Lily. Lily had been suffering pangs of conscience at the news of Tamar's `depression' or whatever it was, because she felt she had persuaded Tamar to take that irrevocable step. She had enjoyed taking charge of'Tamar, able to put her worldly wisdom, her specialised knowledge, her money at the disposal of the much praised little angel. Only later had she realised how grave the decision was which she had so blithely fostered. With that she began, as she never had before, to grieve over her own abortion, which had been such a happy relief to her mind at the time. She even reckoned up how old the child would have been if it had lived. She had lately received a note from Tamar enclosing a cheque for the amount which Lily had lent her. The covering note was brief, curt, no sending of love or good wishes or thanks. Perhaps Tamar now hated Lily for having persuaded her. Looking at the cold note, Lily felt near to hating Tamar for causing her so much regret and remorse. `I don't care for all that religion she's got into,' said Lily 'It's just a psychological trick, it won't last.'

Rose, who thought this too, said vaguely, 'Oh she'll be all right – she's a very strong girl really – she's brave.'

`I wish I was strong and brave and going to be all right,' said Lily.

`Mind you don't step on the snails,' said Rose. 'There's a snails' dance going on after all that rain.'

The grass, illumined by the sunset light, was covered widi glossy worms and wandering snails.

`I love snails,' said Lily, 'my grandmother attracted them, they came into the house. Of' course snails do get in everywhere, I found one in my flat the other day. My grandmothci could tame wild things, they came to her. She used the snails for telepathy.'

`How did she do that?' said Rose, who had heard quite a lot, indeed enough, about Lily's horrible grandmother who had the evil eye and whose name nobody dared to utter.

`To send a message to someone at a distance, each of you has a snail, and you tell your snail what you want to say, and the person with the other snail gets the message. You have to put a spell on the snails of'course.'

Rose wondered how much of this nonsense Lily really believed. They went into the house.

They had supper in the kitchen at the big kitchen-table which Annushka had scrubbed so much that the grainy wood had become a pale waxen yellow. Rose let Lily cook. They had an omelette, and some spiced cabbage which Lily had felicitously improvised, then cheddar cheese, and Cox's Orange pippins whose wrinkled skins were now yellower than the table. During the two days which Lily had spent at Boyars they had eaten frugally, drinking quite a lot of wine however. Mousebrook, stretched out into a very long cat on the warm tiles at the back of the stove, watched them with his baleful golden stare. Rose pulled him out and set him on her knee, stroking him firmly, but he refused to purr and soon twisted away and returned to his warm shrine. His fur, usually so electrically smooth, had felt dry and stiffened. After supper they sat with whisky beside the wood fire inthe drawing room. They were easy together. Rose felt increasingly fond of Lily, iliough her restlessness wearied her, and she was irked by Lily's continual attempts to prompt confidences. Lily had talked a lot to Rose about her childhood and about Gulliver. Rose had not reciprocated. But she was glad of Lily's company and touched by her affection. They retired to bed, at any rate to their bedrooms, early.