Iris Murdoch - The Book And The Brotherhood

It was summertime, a dry warm Irish summer for once, and they took to spending their weekends at the tower, tinkering with its arrangements, sometimes travelling to buy furniture at local auctions. It was a happy time. The tower standing in its own miniature valley, now also their property, was surrounded by sheep-nibbled grass. There was a small stream and a grove of poplar trees, and a scattering of' wild fuchsia and veronica. They had of course already done a good deal of' pleasant rambling round the small beautiful country which they had hardly ever visited before, and Jean had already decided that they must write their own guide book to Ireland, all available guides being declared `hopeless'. They had visited Joyce's tower and Yeats's tower. Now they too had a tower which Jean said should be called Duncan's tower. They were not however destined to enjoy Duncan's tower for long. At a dinner party, Crimond's name was suddenly mentioned. He was jocularly said to be 'coming over to solve the Irish question'. He was going to write some long piece about Ireland and was proposing to take up residence in Dublin for the rest of the summer. Duncan never forgot how, on receiving this news, his wife's face became positively contorted with pleasure.

Duncan was amazed at how miserable he was at once made by the idea of Crimond's presence in Dublin. He felt almost uldishly that all his pleasures had been suddenly stolen and there were no treats any more. When, shortly afterwards, Crimond arrived, and settled himself in a flat in Upper Gardiner Street, Duncan put on a gallant, almost excessive, show of being delighted to see this old college pal. He introduced Crimond to all his favourite Irish people (including Moratity) and saw him warmly welcomed and instantly privileged as the dearest friend of already popular Duncan and jean. Duncan had been finding his diplomatic post a difficult and taxing one. The ambassador was in hospital. Hewas virtually in charge. Relations between Dublin and London, never peaceful, were going through a particularly 'delicate' phase. The two prime ministers, plotting something (or planning an 'Initiative' as these usually futile plots were euphemistically called), were under attack not only by opposition parties but by elements in their own parties. Duncan had to make visits to London. He was extremely busy and ought to have been thinking hard about what he was doing instead of having to think all the time about Crimond. Crimond had meanwhile moved to a flat in Dun Laoghaire, with a view of Dublin Bay, and had given a party to which he invited Jean Mid Duncan, and to which, Duncan being engaged, Jean went alone. He had already become an object of interest and seemed to be getting on very well with the Irish. His political views, in so far as those concerned I rcland, were declared to be 'sound'; and the smallness and gossipy closeness of intellectual Dublin made it impossible for Duncan not to hear his name frequently mentioned.

Duncan, playing his `friendly' part, had of course invited Crimond to a small summer evening gathering at the tower. Crimond was delighted with the place, enthusiastic, full of*a spontaneous boyish pleasure which Duncan could see being appreciated by the other guests. Jean was explaining about the furniture, about altering the kitchen, about planting things, not a'garden'of course, that would be out of place, but a few shrubs perhaps, and laying down a bit of pavement. Crimond was full ofideas. Duncan overheard one of the guests inviting Crimond and Jean to visit a garden centre near his country cottage where you could get old paving stones, and statues – surely they needed statues, a statue anyway, to catch the eye and look mysterious among the poplar trees? Crimond held forth about statues. People became very drunk and laughed a lot. It seemed to Duncan that Crimond, who scarcely drank and was not very convivial by nature, was acting a part. The next day Duncan had to go to London. When he came back Jean told him that she and Crimond had visited the garden centre and ordered some paving-stones and bought some shrub roses and a lawn-mower. After that, during his absences, and sometimes not during his absences, Jean joined Crimond, in Crimond's hired car, for occasional jaunts to famous places. Once they went to Clonmacnoise, which Duncan had not yet seen, and came back rather late. Sometimes other people were (Jean said) with them, sometimes not. Jean and Crimond took over the idea of the guide book to Ireland. During this period Jean was in a state of great excitement and high spirits. Duncan observed her face continually, studying it with an almost morbid intentness, seeing in it the joy brought to her by another man, and also her attempt to conceal this joy.

Of course for the newcomer or tourist, Ireland is simply charming. But it is also an island, divided, angry, full of old demons and old hate. Duncan felt this burden every day in his work and increasingly as his sympathy and his knowledge grew. It soon emerged, and this too upset Duncan who was ready to be maddened by anything which Crimond did or was, that Crimond, although he had hardly ever been to Ireland, knew a great deal more about the island than Duncan did. Anyone who engages deeply with Ireland must engage deeply with its history. Crimond turned out to be crammed full of Irish history. Duncan found himself forced to listen to Crimond airing his views, to a gratified audience, about Parnell, Wolfe Tone, even Cuchulain. Nor did Duncan care to hear Crimond's republican political opinions ever more boldly on display, and his sneers at the British government, uttered in Duncan's company with what seemed a deliberately provocative lack of tact. Duncan declined to be provoked, he watched, he studied his wife's face; and listened quietly to her propounding Crimond's theories about Ireland.

Duncan, crippled by suspicion and hatred, made miserable by fear and by his detestation of his own abject and contemptiblele state of mind, was impelled to action by an accident, the sort of accident which often occurs in such situations. He had of course wondered what else Jean and Crimond did together Resides jaunting around in the car and visiting ruined castles and garden centres. One Sunday morning when Duncan and Iran were spending the weekend at the tower, Jean had gone out early to pursue a plan she had evolved to dam the stream and make a pool or pond. Duncan was to come and help her after the breakfast wh ich she would soon return to make. The tin was shining. Duncan stood at the window of their bed- nom, the upper room of the tower, and looked out between the silky green flanks of the mountains at the glittering triangle of blue sea. The sky was cloudless, a lark was singing, a -swallow was singing, the stream was murmuring. They still constantly said to each other when they were in bed: listen to the stream. Hecould see his wife below, her trousers rolled up, standing barefoot in the stream, bending down, then straightening up, then waving to him. There was all the paraphernalia of complete happiness, that happiness of which he so well knew himself to be capable: only he was in hell. He waved back. He turned into the room, blinking from the sunshine and the dazzle of the sea, and looked at the disordered bed where They had slept together. They had long ago stopped hoping for it child. They had been to doctors who had offered different useless explanations. Then he saw something at the side of the ctirving room, on the floor, a little thing or shadowy quasiililtig lying there upon the boards against the wall of dark lightly uneven stones. He went over to it and picked it up. It was light and pale and insubstantial. He closed it in his hand mid his heart beat very fast and he sat down heavily on the low divan bed. He could feel the hot blood rush to his face and up to his brow. He opened his hand and held the little thing in his palm and examined it. It was a ball of what might have been dusty fluff, but was, he saw, human hair, reddish hair such as a person, a man, might draw off the teeth ofa comb, after he had combed his hair, and idl ylet fall upon the floor. No one came to the tower to clean or dust or deliver goods or mend, no one had a key to the tower except him and Jean. This was not his or Jean's dark hair which he held in his hand, it was Crimond's red hair.