Iris Murdoch - The Book And The Brotherhood

Jean was sitting up in the big bed wearing one of Rose’s prettiest nightdresses. She looked changed, alienated, almost frightening, like a large demonic bird with big eyes and a fierce beak. Her transparent nervous hands looked like claws. She seemed even thinner than when Rose had last seen her, the skin of her face, a yellowish ivory white, stretched over her bones. She was sitting upright against a pile of pillows and cushions; she refused to look at Rose, but kept looking intend and quickly round and round the room. Her lips were parted and she panted slightly.

It was late afternoon, the sun had set into bubbling masses of pink cloud, the lights were on in the bedroom, the curtains not yet drawn. A wood fire was sizzling in the grate. The room already had, for Rose, the quiet, idle, static feeling of an invalid's room, as if the terrible tumult of Jean's life, its past its future, had for the moment withdrawn. Oh if I could only keep her here, Rose thought.

`Shall I draw the curtains?'

'Yes, please.'

She drew the curtains, old brown velvet curtains whose linings tore a little every time they were drawn. Looking out into red twilight she saw the lights of the last village houses visible between two sloping fields, and nearer at hand Mousebrook hurrying along with what looked like a bird in his mouth.

'Darling, wouldn't you like something to cat? Some soup perhaps, anything you want?'

,'No, not yet, don't go away.'

'Or would you like a drink, whisky, brandy?'

'No, no. That picture bothers me, it keeps moving.'

"I'll take it down.'

Rose removed from the mantelpiece a pair of china cats which had been there certainly for fifty years, probably more, climbed on a chair, her legs toasted by the fire, carefully unhooked the big red and orange and black abstract, and stepped down with it. She propped the picture; face inwards, against the wall, removed the chair and replaced the cats. The removal of the picture revealed a square of more conspicuosly blue and white latticed wallpaper above the fireplace.

''That design keeps jumping about too.'

‘The wallpaper? Would you like another room? You can have any room.'

'No. Don't go away.'

‘I won't go away, my darling, I'll never go away!' Rose sat on the bed and touched but did not hold one of the thin translucent bird-hands.'l want you to stay here for a long long time. I'll look after you. You can rest.'

`Just you.'

'Yes, just me. No one shall bother you.'

'I shall be dead soon. I think I'm dead already.'

'No you aren't, you're very very tired, you've been in a shipwreck, but now you're safe on land, you're warm and safe and looked after, what you need is to rest and sleep and gain strength and live yourself into a new world.'

‘A nice idea, but nothing to do with me. Oh Rose- you can't conceive – what I am now -'

'You will stay here?'

'What else can I do? If there's some convenient spot you might immure me. I'd like to hear the bricks climbing up and see the light vanishing.'

‘Jean!'

It was later on. Jean had taken some soup and bread. She was dozing, perhaps asleep. She had asked Rose to leave her for a while, and Rose, exhausted and quite ready to withdraw for a little, was sitting by the fire in the drawing room with Mousebrook purring on her lap. Rose, in her own state of shock, was suffering an extraordinary mixture of emotions. A kind of fierce pleasure predominated. She felt she would now be perfectly happy to live on for months at Boyars, simply looking after Jean, she even imagined how they would pass their days, walking and reading and talking. It would be an ideal recapture of old days. However, there must come (how soon?) the moment when Rose must ask Jean if she wished to communicate with Duncan. The question of at least telling Duncan must arise, before he learnt from some other source that Jean had left Crimond and disappeared. Rose herself wanted to bring him the news of Jean's escape, her willing escape of course she would tell him. Jean had set herself free and was ready to come back: could that be the message? 11(4 the picture, looked at close to, became darker. Suppose Jean did not want to go back to Duncan? Suppose she wanted to run to her father in America, or to flee to some unknown place and vanish forever? That awful image of being immured came back to Rose. How could she imagine what Jean's despair and misery might demand? Suppose, on the other hand, that Jean wanted to go back to Duncan, but Duncan would not forgive her? Would there be diplomacy, would Rose be the diplomat? Rose felt so possessive about Jean that she was reluctant to letanyone else come near her! The thought of `the next moves’ made her feel very afraid. Of course nothing must happen until Jean was ready. All the same Rose could not go keeping her friend's presence a dark secret.

Later on still, after Jean had wakened, accepted a sleeping pill, and gone to sleep again, Rose telephoned Gerard. She had decided that she must and ought to share the problem, and telling Gerard didn't mean telling the world after all. It was nearly midnight, but she knew that Gerard would be up and reading.

‘Hello.'

'Hello, Rose darling. What's up?'

'Lookk. I'm at Boyars. Jean is here.'

'What?'

'She's left Crimond, she's here.'

After a moment Gerard said, 'Has she really left him?'

'Yes.'

'Who left whom?'

‘They agreed to part.'

‘Oh. She won't run back, he won't come and take her?'

'I don't think so.'

'That's wonderful news. But what happened – she turned up in London and you took her to Boyars? Not a bad idea.

‘It's a long story, I'll tell you later. She's just been with me today. Don't tell anyone just yet.'

'Not Duncan?'

'No – not for a day or two – Jean's in such a state.'

'I can imagine. She'll have to be sure she isn't going to age her mind. But the news may get round. Crimond might send it around. Does he know where she is?'

.'No. It may be better if no one knows where she is. I mean, she may not want to see Duncan, and if he finds out he may come rushing down. We don't know what either of them wants. She may decide to go to New York, or -'

Yes, I know. Do you mind if I tell this to Jenkin? He's a wise bird and -'

‘All right, but no one else.'

‘We’ll think what to do. You stay with Jean, we'll handle Duncan. Look, darling, it's late, you've probably had quite a day, you can tell me the whole thing later – you go to bed now and so will I, and we'll talk again tomorrow morning. All right?’

‘All right – good night then.'

`Goodnight, Rose, and don't worry, we'll think out what's best to do.'

Rose replaced the receiver. She had lost the initiative.She would not after all be the one, as she so much wished, to tell Duncan the news! Well, it was inevitable, she had to tell Gerard, and his suggested distribution of labour was rational and just. But supposing – supposing inthat awful Crimond interlude Jean had learned to hate Duncan, or Duncan had learned to hate Jean?

`Nice of you two to invite yourselves,' said Duncan. `Have a drink, sherry, whisky, gin? I don't see many people now, I keep company with these bottles.'

`Sherry, thanks,' said Gerard.

`Nothing yet,' said Jenkin, 'I'll shout.'

'Do that. You know, I'm thinking of resigning from the dear old office. All right, you, Gerard, will expect me to write a book, my memoirs orhow to run the country, or something,'

'I wouldn't know what to expect,' said Gerard, 'a versatile chap like you might do anything.'

'Perhaps I'll take up oil painting. Or drink myself to death, that's always a worthy pastime. But what's the matter with you? Are you my friends, or are you a delegation?'

Gerard and Jenkin, sitting on the sofa while Duncan stood by the bottles, looked at each other.