Iris Murdoch - The Book And The Brotherhood

`You mean your book -' said Gerard. He had been on the point of becoming angry and was restraining himself. The return to the book was an escape route.

`Oh – the book -' said Crimond. He stood up and began to rub his eyes. 'Yes, it's hell – one needs that last bit of bloody courage which takes you on past your best possible formulation into – oh -'

`I look forward to reading it,' said Gerard, rising too. He was feeling exhausted. 'One thing does puzzle me though, why you want to call all this rigmarole Marxism. Of course I know that Marx's early utopian ideas are all the fashion now- But why put yourself inside that conceptual cage?'

`The cage – yes – the cage – but it's not that cage – it's not like you think. Well – well – I'd like to persuade you, I'd like to persuade you. I could teach you a lot of things. I haven't many people to talk to now. Of course you're not ideal because you know so little. But I find it easy to talk to you – perhaps for historical reasons.' 1

`I wonder if you'd like to talk to the committee?' This idea had just occurred to Gerard.

`Would they listen? No – it's not a good idea. I don't mind talking to you, but -'

`Think it over. Thank you for coming.'

They went out into the hall and Crimond put on his coat and scarf. He drew a rolled-up cap out of his coat pocket and held it. There was an awkwardness, as if they were about to shake hands. Gerard opened the door, upon which, during their discussion, Patricia had hung a holly wreath. Crimond set off quickly and did not look back. Gerard closed the door and leaned against it.

The `rather odd morning' which Rose had mentioned on the telephone to Gerard had been spent with Jean. In becoming more and more anxious about her friend, Rose's feelings had been painfully mixed up. She did not write to Jean because Crimond might read the letter and somehow blame Jean. She could not just 'call in', risking an encounter with Crimond; nor did it make any sense to telephone for even if Jean answered, s he could hardly talk to Rose with Crimond nearby, and if she was alone she might still not wish to talk, might be abrupt, even putting the telephone down, thereby upsetting Rose very much indeed. Rose did not want to force ,Jean suddenly to choose between rudeness to Rose and disloyalty to Crimond. Perhaps this precluded any approach at all. Quite apart from these more mechanical problems Rose was troubled about her own purposes and motives. Any communication with Jean might make difficulties at that end. Crimond was certainly suspicious, possessive, possibly violent. Rose would be taken to be an emissary of Gerard, perhaps of Duncan. It was such a delicate matter. Ought not Rose to be resigned to not seeing Jean and to knowing nothing? But Rose did not like knowing nothing. Was this because of concern for Jean's welfare, or out of curiosity? Rose very much wanted to talk to Jean to find out what was going on. She wanted to see Jean, to look at the woman who now belonged to Crimond. She wanted inside information to pass on to Gerard. She wanted to assess the likelihood of Jean's return to Duncan, and also to find out if there was any way in which she could help Jean. With Gerard she had imagined many possible situations, by herself probably every possible situation. Jean might need outside help to escape, or at least to be resolute enough to envisage escaping. She needed, surely, a signal from her friends, evidence of continued love, perhaps simply to be told that Duncan longed for her to come back. If the opposite were the case and she needed no such support and assistance, that was important too. Rose and Gerard would have to decide what, if anything, to say to Duncan. Also of course Rose wanted information because she wanted information, the whole thing was so interesting. What decided her at least to make a move was however simply her desire to be with Jean again, to take her in her arms and kiss her.

The occasion was presented as soon as Rose knew that on a certain day at a certain time Crimond was to be with Gerard. Rose's plan was to drive to South London early, find a telephone box near to Crimond's house, and when she was sure Crimond must have left, to telephone Jean and say she was very near and could she drop in for a minute. The plan worked. Jean said curtly 'Yes', and a few minutes later Rose was in the house.

Now they were downstairs in what Crimond called the Playroom, Rose sitting on her coat, which she had slipped off, on the divan, and Jean, facing her, on a chair drawn over from the desk. Their meeting at the door had been emotional but not effusive. They gripped each other's arms, turning quickly away without an embrace.

The Playroom was darkish except for two shaded lamps. one on the desk, the other perched on a pile of books mon one of the tables. The room was cold and smelt of paraffin. Jean looked thinner, looked tired, seemed to be wearing no make-up, was dressed in a dark blue woollen dress and a brown cardigan and had just taken off an apron. She looked well, however and beautiful, her dark hair more shaggy, long less neat, her dark eyes fierce. She had what Rose had once called her Jewish heroine look. Rose now felt, confronting her, almost afraid, at a loss, ready to cry, afraid too that Jean might suddenly weep angry ferocious savage tears. It had proved so far difficult to make conversation.

`I was at Boyars in the snowy weather. The meadow was frozen.'

`Did you skate?'

`Yes. Lily Boyne was there. She skates very well. I was surprised.'

`I don't see why you should be surprised.'

`No – I suppose not – I just didn't expect it.'

`How's Tamar?'

`Not well. She's eating very little and looks unhappy.’

`Can't you do anything?'

'I try. She came to see you, I believe.'

'I assume you arranged it.'

‘Well – would you like to see her again?

'No.’

'She's very fond of you. Doesn't he like you having visitors?'

‘Why did you come?' said Jean.

‘To see you. And to see if there was anying in the world I could do for you.'

' There is nothing.'

After a moment's silence Rose said, 'Will he come straight back after he leaves?'

‘Will who come straight back after he leaves where?'

‘Will Crimond come straight back here when he leaves Gerard?`

`Is he with Gerard?'

‘Yes! Didn't you know?'

‘He doesn't always say where he's going .said Jean, 'I don't ask. I don't know whether he'll come strait back.'

‘You don't seem to know much about him.'

‘I don't know everything about him.'

Jean, her hands on her knees, sat starin qat Rose, waiting for the next question, as in an interrogation.

'Does Crimond shoot at that target?'

'He used to.'

'I remember he was a marksman, he won some prize. I hope he’s not preparing for a revolution.'

‘I think he's amusing himself.'

‘What do you do?'

‘What do you mean?'

`l mean both of you, what do you do all day, do you stay here, do you travel, do you entertain, do you visit people, do you go to concerts, are you happy?'

‘We’re mostly here,' said Jean, 'we don't "entertain", people sometimes come.'

‘Do you discuss his work?'

‘We discuss all sorts of things, but if you mean the book ., no, not that.’

‘The book really exists?'

`Of course. It's over there. You can look at it if you like.'

Rose looked toward the desk, where the lamp showed a pile of different-coloured notebooks, one open. She felt a superstitious aversion to looking at the book. 'No, thank you -'

`You imagine I'm unhappy, perhaps you hope I'm unhappy.'

`No,' said Rose, 'I just thought you might be bored.' She had begun to feel they were talking in their sleep, not communicating at all, wasting precious time. Now Jean frown and the atmosphere became tenser and more alert. Rose went on, in the new tension and sense of closeness, to say something which she had resolved to say, felt she must say, even rehearsed. 'Duncan loves you. He wants you back. We all love you, we miss you. I wish you'd come back.'