John Fowles - The Magus

“You must go now as well.”

“To hell with the bell. Unless you come to tea too.”

“No. I must go. I know he’s watching us.”

“He said he would?”

She gave the slightest of nods, then looked urgently at me. “Please, please , if you like me at all, go away now.”

“Where will you go?”

“I shall stay here till you’ve gone.”

“But I’ll see you tonight.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. It’s not for me to—”

The bell rang peremptorily again.

“I must see you before next weekend.”

“I can’t promise anything.”

“I could meet you here. Not come to the house.”

“No, no. You mustn’t. Please. You must go.” She looked faintly distraught under the false smiles, and pushed me to make me go.

“I’ll come on Tuesday, no, damn, oh God and Wednesday I’ve got duties—tomorrow?”

“No.”

“Thursday.”

“No. Please .”

“Kiss me goodbye.”

She hesitated, then leaning forward rather as she had that morning, she brushed my cheek with her lips; and whispered.

“The weekend after, I promise.”

She freed her hand almost with violence; but her look countermanded it. I went. At the gulley I waved, and she waved back. I said “Yes?” and she gave a minute nod; on the other side, I waved again. Then I saw Conchis.

He was some sixty yards away through the trees. His back to us, he appeared to be watching some bird high in the trees beyond him through binoculars. Alter a moment he lowered them, turned, and made as if he had just seen me. I glanced back. Lily was walking slowly to the east. She looked dejected.

As I walked over the carpet of pine needles to meet him, I decided to be slightly annoyed; and then, when I was close to him, something about his quizzical look made me change tactics. It obviously did not pay at Bourani to look or speak as one felt. I believed, in terms of believing a person’s eyes and voice and gestures, that Lily had not been lying to me—at least in regard to some strain, some tension in her relationship with Conchis; but I knew very well that she could have been lying to me.

“Hello.”

“Good afternoon, Nicholas. I must apologize for that sudden absence. There has been a small scare on Wall Street.” Wall Street seemed to be on the other side of the universe; not just of the world. I tried to look concerned.

“Oh.”

“I had to go to Nauplia to telephone Geneva.”

“I hope you’re not bankrupt.”

“Only a fool is ever bankrupt. And he is bankrupt forever. You have been with Lily?”

“Yes.”

We began to walk back towards the house. I sized him up, and said, “And I’ve met her twin sister.”

He touched the powerful glasses around his neck. “I thought I heard a subalpine warbler. It is very late for them to be still on migration.” It was not exactly a snub, but a sort of conjuring trick: how to make the subject disappear.

“Or rather, seen her twin sister.”

He walked several steps on; I had an idea that he was thinking fast.

“Lily had no sister. Therefore has no sister here.”

“I only meant to say that I’ve been very well entertained in your absence.”

He did not smile, but inclined his head. We said nothing more. I had the distinct feeling that he was a chess master caught between two moves; immensely rapid calculation of combinations. Once he even turned to say something, but changed his mind.

We reached the gravel.

“Did you like my Poseidon?”

“Wonderful. I was going to—”

He put his hand on my arm and stopped me, and looked down, almost as if he was at a loss for words.

“She may be amused. That is what she needs. But not upset. For reasons you of course now realize. I am sorry for all this little mystery we spread around you before.” He pressed my arm, and went on.

“You mean the… amnesia?”

He stopped again; we had just come to the steps.

“Nothing else about her struck you?”

“Lots of things.”

“Nothing pathological?”

“No.”

He raised his eyebrows a fraction as if I surprised him, but went up the steps; put his glasses on the old cane couch, and turned back to the tea table. I stood by my chair, and gave him his own interrogative shake of the head.

“This obsessive need to assume disguises. To give herself false motivations. That did not strike you?”

I bit my lips, but his face, as he whisked the muslin covers away, was as straight as a poker.

“I thought that was rather required of her.”

“Required?” He seemed momentarily puzzled, then clear. “You mean that schizophrenia produces these symptoms?”

“Schizophrenia?”

“Did you not mean that?” He gestured to me to sit. “I am sorry. Perhaps you are not familiar with all this psychiatric jargon.”

“Yes I am. But—”

“Split personality.”

“I know what schizophrenia is. But you said she did everything… because you wanted it.”

“Of course. As one says such things to a child. To encourage them to obey.”

“But she isn’t a child.”

“I speak metaphorically. As of course I was speaking last night.”

“But she’s very intelligent.”

He gave me a professional look. “The correlation between high intelligence and schizophrenia is well known.”

I ate my sandwich, and then grinned at him.

“Every day I spend here I feel my legs get a little longer. There’s so much pulling on them.”

He looked amazed, even a shade irritated. “I am most certainly not pulling your leg at the moment. Far from it.”

“I think you are. But I don’t mind.”

He pushed his chair away from the table and made a new gesture; pressing his hands to his temples, as if he had been guilty of some terrible mistake. It was right out of character; and I knew he was acting.

“I was so sure that you had understood by now.”

“I think I have.”

He gave me a piercing look I was meant to believe, and didn’t.

“There are personal reasons I cannot go into now why I should—even if I did not love her as a daughter—feel the gravest responsibility for the unfortunate creature you have been with today.” He poured hot water into the silver teapot. “She is one of the principal, the principal reason why I come to Bourani and its isolation. I thought you had realized that by now.”

“Of course I had… in a way.”

“This is the one place where the poor child can roam a little and indulge her fantasies.” I was thinking back fast—what had she said… I owe him so much … I can’t explain … I can’t lie to him . I thought, the cunning little bitch; they’re throwing me backwards and forwards like a ball. I felt annoyed again, and at the same time fascinated. I smiled.

“Are you trying to tell me she’s mad?”

“Mad is a meaningless nonmedical word. She suffers from schizophrenia.”

“So she believes herself to be your long-dead fiancée?”

“I gave her that role. It was deliberately induced. It is quite harmless and she enjoys playing it. It is in some of her other roles that she is not so harmless.”

“Roles?”

“Wait.” He disappeared indoors and came back a minute later with a book. “This is a standard textbook on psychiatry.” He searched for a moment. “Allow me to read a passage. 'One of the defining characteristics of schizophrenia is the formation of delusions which may be elaborate and systematic, or bizarre and incongruous.” He looked up at me. “Lily falls into the first category.” He went on reading. “They, these delusions, have in common the same tendency to relate always to the patient; they often incorporate elements of popular prejudice against certain groups of activities; and they take the general form of self-glorification or feelings of persecution. One patient may believe she is Cleopatra, and will expect all around her to conform to her belief, while another may believe that her own family have decided to murder her and will therefore make even their most innocent and sympathetic statements and actions conform to her fundamental delusion.' And here. 'There are frequently large areas of consciousness untouched by the delusion. In all that concerns them, the patient may seem, to an observer who knows the full truth, bewilderingly sensible and logical.”