Iris Murdoch - The Book And The Brotherhood

`She dropped a hint about that upstairs! There's no room in her rabbit hutch, she'd spoil those nice things, they'd ho covered with old newspapers and teapot rings and plastic bags. We might give her some of the kitchen stuff. But she wouldn't take it anyway. She just plays the poor relation fin ill it's worth. She wants to make us feel guilty.'

`She succeeds. I wish we could do something for Tamar.'

`So you keep saying, but it's no good, Tamar's got a death wish. She can't even get around to cleaning the flat! Violet never got over that swinging adolescence, she still dreams she's twenty and it's all before her and Tamar never happened. Tamar has never seemed to her entirely real, just a nasty hurtful ghost. She's made Tamar feel like a ghost. Tamar's fading away, one day she'll be as thin as a needle, the next day she'll be gone.'

`No -!'

Gideon Fairfax came in, bland, calm, curly-haired, red lipped, with his clever pretty exquisitely shaven rosy youthful face. His shirt tonight, with his dark suit, was a glowing blueish green. He dyed his shirts himself. Gerard could newt make out why his polite pleasant cultivated brother-in-law irritated him so much.

`Has she gone? I've been lurking.'

`She's gone,' said Pat. 'All the same I'd like to have her figure.'

`Gideon, I wish you'd leave the rockery alone!' said Gerard.

`My dear Gerard, the thing about a rockery is that it cannot be left alone, left alone it becomes all messy and earthy anal Victorian and eventually vanishes, it's a perpetual challenge. I only weeded it and removed some stones and put in soin, plants, it'll be a picture next year.'

`Gideon is an artist,' said Pat.

`And I see you destroyed all those ash saplings.'

`My dear, they get everywhere.'

`I like them everywhere.'

Gideon was of course not an artist, not even an art historian, he was simply someone who could not help making money. His tastes did not always coincide with Gerard's, but Gerard liml to admit that Gideon, beside understanding the market, did really like pictures.

`How's Leonard getting on at Cornell?' Leonard Fairfax was studying art history in America. Patricia and Gideon had Imig been worried in case Leonard were to fall in love with Tamar. There had been no sign of this however.

`I saw him in New York. He's started to play baseball!' 'Good God!'

'A pity that Lomas boy fell through for Tamar,' said Patricia. 'She doesn't seem to be interested in sex at all. Or she could be homosexual. I didn't at all like her passion for Jean ambus. Thank heaven she won't be seeing her again!'

`Did you get the Klimt?' Gerard asked Gideon.

'Alas, no!'

`Did Gerard send you?' said Jean.

Tamar hesitated.

`Come, deal justly with me!'

Tamar smiled. She said, 'Well, he encouraged me. I wanted to come anyway – only I was afraid to.'

'Why?'

' I thought you mightn't want to see me.'

'Why shouldn't I?'

‘Because you might want to cut off all contact with us.' `I like your "us" – so you count as one of the gang!' `No, not really – but I thought it might upset you -' `Embarrass me, accuse me?'

, No, no -'Tamar blushed because something like that had been in her mind. 'Jean, don't ' be so strict! You're not cnr~ with me for coming, are you?'

'No, my dear child, of course not, I'm just curious. So you’re not the bearer of a message from anybody?'

`Certainly not.'

`Why did Gerard want you to come?'

`Nothing special, just to keep contact.'

'So you're to report back to Gerard?'

'He never said that!' It was true that he had never said it, but of course he would want a report. Tamar realised she should have expected just these questions – and now she was close to telling lies.

Their meeting had been awkward. Tamar, after reflecting carefully about how to proceed, had rung up from a telephone box in Camberwell about four o'clock ona Saturday, saying she was near and could she come. Jean said yes. When Taman came through the front door there had not been the usual kiss, just a quick handshake. Jean had led the way to the back room which was full of bookshelves with a divan up against the books and a door to the garden. Jean was wearing a dressing gown. The divan was covered with an old faded cotton counterpane on top of which were two handsome dresses, Tamar took off her coat, keeping Gerard's scarf about her neck. The sky had become darker since her arrival and now it was raining. Outside the little lawn was strewn with leaves, the yellow chrysanthemums, fading to brown, drooping, against their windblown sticks. The room was cold and felt derelict and unlived in, the floor echoed, the house felt dusty and damp. Tamar thought, it's a senseless house, and her heart sank.

'Well, I'll let you off,' said Jean. I know you're a good girl. I'm glad to see you.' She added, 'In case you're wondering, he's not here.'

There was a slight pause. There were so many things which could not be uttered, it was necessary to reflect. Jean said, 'God, how dark it's got, I'll put the light on.' She switched on a dim centre light which seemed to make the room darker. They were sitting opposite to each other on upright chairs, as in an interview between a social worker and a client. Tamar looked down at the nails in the unpainted wooden boards.

'How's Oxford?'

Tamar startled, said, 'I'm not at Oxford, I'm working for a publisher.' It seemed amazing that Jean was so out of touch, so far away.

'But why -?'

'My mother was in debt.'

'Why didn't you ask me?'

' My mother wouldn't accept money.'

' I'm not offering it to her, I'm offering it to you! Are you Cupid, can't you grow up? She wants to isolate you, she wants to ruin you.'

'Not really – she loves me. 'Tamar could see what it was like for her mother in whose wounded heart there was indeed hatred, hatred for Tamar, but somehow love too.

'I'll go and see her.'

'No, no, she's against you anyway, she's jealous because I’m fond of you.'

'God, how wicked human beings can be. I'll think of something.’

Tamar could not help wishing that some quick magic could mend it all. Why couldn't money solve everything? Money here seemed to glow with rationality, sense, justice, almost virtue. But it was impossible. Tamar could not either leave her mother or save her. It was like something awful in a fairy tale. The money to pay the debts could only come from Tamar's work. No other money would do. There was no place here for common sense or reasonable compromise. Tamar's ordeal would not make Violet happy or grateful. Yet anything else was unthinkable.

'My father will think of something,' said Jean. 'You'll just have to tell a few lies. Tamar, don't look like that, I'll smack you!'

'What pretty dresses,' said Tamar, pointing to the bed.

'All right, change the subject, but I won't tolerate this repulsive sacrifice. I've just bought these, I was just going to try them on.' Jean jumped up, threw off her dressing gown, revealing herself in a short white petticoat and black suspenders and black stockings. In this attire she might conventionally have resembled an adornment of an old-fashioned nightclub, but to Tamar's eyes she looked more like a pirate, a soldier, like a Greek soldier, someone striding forth, her stockings become boots, the lace of her petticoat the permitted embellishment of a crack regiment. Her face too, so pale, almost white, with its thin sharply contoured aquiline nose, looked like that of a young commander, perhaps a sultan, portrayed in profile by an Indian miniaturist. Her bare shoulders, her arms, her glimpsed thigh, were white too, delicate transparent skin faintly marbled here and there with little blue veins. Her dark hair, curving with her head, glowed bluish. Tamar had never seen her look so splendid, so young and strong, so, in spite of her pallor, glittering with health. Tamar sighed.