Iris Murdoch - The Book And The Brotherhood

They had walked only a little way when there was a sound of someone running behind them. It was Father McAlister. They all stopped.

The priest had doffed his vestments and put on anovercoat. As he ran towards them he held his cassock gathered up into one hand. He had a black beret on his head, perched above his ears. He looked younger, red with cold, somewhat unshaven. When he reached them he stopped and stretched out his bare hands on either side in a gesture which might have expressed apology, or some kind of availability as in a blessing. He addressed Rose in a firm authoritative voice, with a very slight Scottish accent. 'Miss Curtland, forgive me – but could you introduce me to this young lady?' Without turning to her he indicated Tamar.

Rose, surprised, said, 'Yes, of course. Miss Hernshaw. Tamar, Father McAlister.'

The priest went on, still not looking at Tamar. Would you mind if I talked to Miss Hernshaw for a few minutes – if she is willing, that is?'

Rose, ruffled by this sudden intrusion, and wanting to protect Tamar, said, 'Well, just now we're going to join some friends -'

Tamar said at once, 'I'll go with him. I'll be back fot lunch, don't wait – I won't be long.' She turned and began to walk back towards the church. The priest followed her.

`Really!' said Rose. 'What's all that about? I think it’s cheek! What can he want?'

`He saw her face,' said Jenkin. 'He thinks she's afflicted.’

`It's not his business! He'll upset her!' Rose felt indignant and distressed. She had understood that Tamar was ill, she had tried to help her. Now this interfering priest had taken her away.

'I’ll wait here,' said Rose.

‘Better let her come back by herself,' suggested Jenkin.

After some hesitation they walked on toward the village. As they came near they saw Lily and Gulliver coming out to meet them, sliding on the trodden snow.

Tamar went first into the church and sat down where she had sat during the service, and Father McAlister came and sat beside her, looking at her. He pulled off his beret and his overcoat.

‘Won’t you take off your coat?'

Tamar did not take off her coat, but she unbuttoned it and took of her little blue felt hat with the narrow brim and looked at McAlister with her wild green-brown eyes. She rolled up at her hat and thrust it into her pocket. Then she ran both hands through her straight short silky hair, straining it back from her face. 'What is it?'

‘There is no one here,' said the priest. 'We are alone here. Except for the Divine Presence.'

‘What did you want to say?'

‘You are in grief. You look as if you are in mourning. Have you lost a loved one?'

‘No.’

‘Then what is the matter?'

‘Why on earth should I tell you?'

‘I’m a minister of God. In talking to me you talk to God.'

‘I don't believe in God,' said Tamar.

‘Let us not worry about words,' said Father McAlister. 'We are in the presence of what is holy, of Christ crucified and Christ risen. Christ saves – that is the reality in our lives. Did you know Jesus when you were a child?'

‘No. Only – well – at school – but, no -'

‘Were you baptised, confirmed?'

‘No, my mother didn't like those things, she didn't approve it, I can't think why you -'

`Don't be proud with me, child, I am nothing, a servant, an instrument, a slave. And yet something, a vehicle of love. You need love. Belief does not matter. It is need that matters. Tell me your first name, I didn't catch it when Miss Curtland spoke it.'

`Tamar.'

`Ah, a name from the Bible.'

`I was named after the river.' This was an idea put into Tamar's head by one of her earliest school teachers.

`I want you, whatever your trouble may be, to turn to Jesus, to the living Christ, who is more real to us than God, closer to us than God, closer to us than ourselves -'

`Thank you,' said Tamar, 'I know you mean well and I thank you for your kindness. I hear what you say. Now I must go.

She made to rise but Father McAlister had suddenly taken her wrist in a strong grip and held her where she was. 'I want you to know that you have a Saviour to whom nothing is impossible. You need love. Perhaps you need forgiveness. You need healing. Turn to the boundless perfect love which heals and pardons. Kneel, Tamar.'

Tamar slipped down onto her knees, onto one of the soft beautiful embroidered kneelers which Rose liked so much. As soon as she had felt the priest's hand holding her ever so firmly tears had gathered in her eyes. Now they began to pour down her cheeks and she sobbed.

Father McAlister released his hold and falling on his knees beside her began to pray, looking up into the white light. '0 Lord Jesus Christ, master and king, merciful judge, giver of that peace which the world cannot give, who healeth the hidden heart and taketh away the sin of those who with true repentance turn unto Thee, falling wearied and broken at Thy blessed feet -' He stopped abruptly, and there was silence except for Tamar's sobs. She hid her face in her hands and the tears ran through her fingers and down over her thin wrists and onto her coat. He said to her, in a conspiratorial whisper, 'Come on – tell me all about it!'

Still crying and drooping her head, she began to tell him. One of the things which Tamar told the priest in the sun-lit snow-lit church was that she was pregnant.

‘How is your father?' said Crimond.

`He's dead,' said Gerard.

'Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that.'

'He died last June. He'd had cancer for some time. How is your father?'

'Soldiering on. He's older than yours if I remember. He has a heart condition.'

'I'm sorry -'

'I remember your father, we met at Oxford, and later again in London. He was very kind to me.'

Gerard could not remember Crimond meeting his father, but it had evidently happened.

Crimond had followed Gerard into the dining room. It was Thursday at ten o'clock and Crimond had arrived punctually to be asked to give his 'explanation'. It was a dark day and the snow had disappeared from London.

After some reflection Gerard had decided to have the meeting in the dining room, sitting at the table. It seemed more business-like, less relaxed, the room was darker and more enclosed. He had thought of putting out paper and pens as for a committee, but this had seemed ridiculous. The highly polished dining table had nothing on it. Two chairs were placed, not far apart, at one end, the other chairs were against the wall.

Gerard had been annoyed the previous evening, when he returned from the London Library, to find that Gideon and Patricia, just back from Venice, had begun to put up Christmas decorations and had started with the dining room. The two lamps which he had put on filled the room with reflected points of light on elaborate glittering red chains and on the shiny scarlet and green holly branches which had been liberally stuffed in behind the Japanese paintings. Patricia had asked I him to bring some holly from Boyars, but he had forgotten, so she had bought some at Harrods. He had mentioned casually, so as to avoid fuss if they found out later, that Crimond was coming to see him on business and they were to be left alone. Of course Pat and Gideon were extremely interested, but had expressed no sinister intent of joining in. Rose of course had been absurdly nervous about the meeting, and had ended by making Gerard nervous. He had told her that he would give Crimond about an hour, that their business, which would be simple enough, should be finished within less than that time, and yes, all right, she could ring him if she wanted to after eleven. Gerard had decided to make things as perfunctory as possible. Crimond would get the message. Gerard didn't want a showdown, he simply wanted to ask a few polite questions and would be satisfied with vague answers. He would be, as Jenkin had put it, 'going through the motions'.