Iris Murdoch - The Book And The Brotherhood

Patricia Fairfax opened the door. 'Why are you here?' she asked. Then, seeing the question was ridiculous, said, 'Have you been here long? I was asleep.'

'Not long,' said Gerard, mopping his eyes with the back of his hand.

'Come downstairs. Why have you no shoes on? There are your shoes. Put them on. Have you looked at him?'

'Yes.'

Patricia stared at the shrouded figure, then turned and hurried down the stairs. Gerard followed, closing the door. 'Would you like some coffee, something to eat?'

'Yes, please.'

'I suppose you've been up all night.'

'Yes.'

They went into the kitchen, Gerard sat at the scrubbed wooden table, Patricia turned on the electric stove. Gerard had felt, he still felt, irritated at the calm way she had taken over his kitchen. He had felt bound to invite Pat and Gideon lbr what was to have been a short interval after the lease of I heir flat was unexpectedly terminated, now they behaved as if they owned the place. He felt extremely tired. 'Pat, dear, don't worry about eggs or anything, just give me some bread.'

'Don't you want toast?'

,Toast. Yes, no, it doesn't matter. Have you eaten anything?,

'I can't eat.'

Gerard felt ashamed that he could. 'Tell me what happened.'

'He was all right last night.'

'He was all right in the afternoon when I left him, he seemed lictier.'

'I settled him down and went to bed. Then about one 4 o'clock I heard him moaning and moving, making those little iwises, you know, you said like a restless bird – and I got up and went to him and he was awake, but – he wasn't making much sense -'

'Rambling a bit?'

'Yes, that happened before – but really, now – he was different-‘

‘Different – how – do you think he knew?'

'He was – he was – frightened.'

`Oh God -' Oh the pity of it, he thought, how terrible, how I pity him, oh the pity, oh the grief. 'Pat, I'm sorry I wasn't there.'

`You would have been if you hadn't regarded that dance as so absolutely important.'

`Was he in pain?'

`I don't think so. I'd given him the usual stuff. But he had such a – a terrible urgent look in his eyes, and he couldn't keep still, as if all his body were wrong and intolerable.'

`An urgent look. Did he say anything clear?'

`He said several times, "Help me."'

`Oh -dear – Did he ask for me?'

`No. He talked about Uncle Ben.' Benjamin Hernshaw had been Matthew Hernshaw's 'disreputable' younger brother, Violet's father, Tamar's grandfather.

`He always loved Ben. Have you telephoned Violet?'

`No, of course not.'

`Why of course?'

`I wasn't going to ring her in the middle of the night, was I? She never liked Dad, she isn't interested, she knows there's nothing for her in the will.'

`How does she know?'

`I told her.'

`Was that necessary?'

`She asked me.'

`We must give her something.'

`Oh for God's sake don't start on that, we've got enough to worry about.'

`Dad didn't mention her because he assumed we'd look after her.'

`Just you try, she'd bite your hand off, she hates everybody!' `She did accept money from Dad, I know – we must tell her he talked about Ben. What did he say about him?'

`I don't know, he was mumbling – remember Ben, or remember Ben's something or other -'

`Well, there you are -'

`Look, Gerry, we must decide -'

`Pat, wait – Did you know he was going to – to die?'

'Only just before the end – then suddenly it was – so clear -.is if he'd explained it -'

`Ali – and you saw him go?'

`Yes. He was lying there and twisting and turning and talking about Ben. Then suddenly he sat up straight and looked at me – with that awful puzzled frightened look – and he looked all about the room – and he said – he said -'

`What?"

`He said slowly, and quite clearly, "I'm – so – sorry." Then he leaned back onto the pillow, not falling, but slowly, a§ if Inc were going to sleep again – he made a little tiny odd sound, like – like a – mew – and I saw it was over.'

Gerard wanted to ask, what did you see, how did you know, he felt, later on I won't be able to, everything must be said now, but he did not ask. He would have time later to think About that dreadful pitiful 'I'm sorry'. He thought, he was looking for me at that moment.

Patricia was dry-eyed and controlled, her emotion evident in her hesitations and in the hard clipped exasperated tone in which she answered Gerard's questions. She now made coffee. She opened a drawer, chose a clean red and green check table cloth and spread it on the table, then set out plate, cup, saucer, knife, spoons, butter, marmalade, sugar, milk in a blue jug, sliced bread aligned in a bowl. She set the coffee pot on a tile.

`Do you want hot milk?'

`No, thanks. Aren't you having cofree?'

'No. '

She gave him a paper napkin. The paper napkins represented her regime, used in preference to Gerard's linen ones. She sat down opposite to him and closed her eyes.

The house felt terrible, disjointed, gutted. Sitting quietly in it at last, Gerard felt his body aching with grief and fear, with grief which was fear, an exhausted denatured sensation, a loss of being. He concentrated on Patricia. It was possible, he knew, to esteem and admire people and enjoy their company Aild dislike them heartily. It was also possible to be irritated, maddened and bored by people whom one loves. He had thus loved his mother and Pat. Through time and custom, simply by enduring, this love had grown stronger. This was no doubt a proof that 'family' meant something to him, or perhaps that he had got used to putting up with them for his father's sake; though for his father's sake too he had resented their separatism, their little league against 'the men', critical, mocking, secretive. He had never liked their laughter, had been enraged as a child by his mother's jesting at his father's expense, had resented his father's humble surrender of his authority and his dignity. Yet they had had a harmonious time on the whole and, apart from that one terrible episode and its reverberations, hecould not claim an unhappy childhood. His father had been too old for the second war, Gerard too young. He had continued to love them all, and much later to see, with sympathy, his mother and sister as strong frustrated women. Patricia had wilfully thrown away her education and was now irked with excesses of energy for which she could find no use. She was a loving and business-like mother and wife but yearned for some indefinable larger scene, more status, more power. He looked at her now, her face relaxed in tiredness, perhaps in sleep, her lips parted, her mouth, as in a tragic mask, drooping heavily into long harsh lines. She was a striking woman, inheriting her mother's long smooth face, her stern and noble look and perpetual frown, a brave powerful face whose owner would no doubt be a valuable companion on a desert island. The idea of"putting a brave face on it' suited Patricia, she had 'nerve', and had been a tomboyish child. Her shortish fair hair, a little streaked with grey, well cut at intervals, usually tousled, often patted into shape by its owner, looked youthful, was still shaggy and boyish. In recent years she had put on weight. Even now in repose her shoulders were back, her prominent chin well tucked in, her bust set forward under a flowery apron which Gerard was noticing for the first time. It was only lately that Gerard had realised that his sister had begun to envy her younger cousin's trim figure and enduring good looks. Patricia, once handsome, could never have been called beautiful; but Violet Hernshaw's face had that enduring structure which can command esteem at any tge. Of course Pat was established as 'successful', her hus)and wealthy, her son 'brilliant', whereas Violet, as Pat now often sympathetically observed, had made a complete mess of ter life, and her charms had brought her only bad luck. Ben tad abandoned his mistress and his little daughter, he had)een a crazy fellow who took to drugs and died young. Matthew, had tried to 'save' him, had been deeply grieved by his failure; perhaps he felt guilty as well. Matthew had been sober, conscientious, gentle. Now he was gone too. Gerard was mare of laying his head down on the table. He recalled, then saw with the eyes of dream, how his staid father, who rarely louched alcohol, used sometimes to startle them all by singing slightly risque music-hall songs, his grave face transformed by a lunatic jollity.They found his occasional crazy merriment hildish, touching, and embarrassing.