Iris Murdoch - Under the Net

'East,' I said.

'Which is east?' Finn asked.

'Come on!' I said.

We strode past St Sepulchre and straight into the Viaduct Tavern, which is a Meux's house. A glance round the bars satisfied me that Hugo wasn't there, and I was about to go when Finn and Dave started protesting.

'I remember,' said Dave, 'you once before told me that it was bad form to drink in a pub you didn't know the name of, or to enter a pub without drinking.'

Finn said, 'It brings bad luck.'

'However that may be,' said Dave, 'I want a drink. What is yours, Finn?'

If other things had been equal I would have wanted a drink too, and as it was a hot night I joined the others in a pint, drinking which I stood apart thinking about Hugo. We got the pint down fast and I gave them orders to march. Averting my eyes from the Old Bailey, I led them across the road.

There was a sleek Charrington's house called the Magpie and Stump. Running ahead of them I took in the scene at a glance and was out again before they could reach the door. 'No good!' I cried. 'We'll try the next.' I could see that the alcohol would involve us in a rallentando and I wanted to get as far as possible while the going was good.

Finn and Dave passed me at the double and dodged into the George. The George is an agreeable Watney's house with peeling walls and an ancient counter with one of those cut-glass and mahogany superstructures through which the barman peers like an enclosed ecclesiastic. There was no Hugo.

'This is no use,' I said to Dave, as we raised our three tankards. 'He may be anywhere.'

'Don't throw in,' said Dave. 'You can always go back to the flat.'

This was true; and in any case an intolerable restlessness devoured me. If I had to kill the evening until Hugo's return I might as well kill it searching for Hugo as any other way. I spread out in my mind the environs of the Cathedral. Then I concluded an agreement with Finn and Dave that we should only patronize every other pub. Finally I turned my attention to making them move. When we emerged I made towards Ludgate Hill, and turned up the hill towards St Paul's. There was a Younger's house on the hill, but Hugo wasn't in it. The next stop was Short's in St Paul's Churchyard. We had a drink there, and I debated privately whether we shouldn't turn back to Fleet Street; but having betted on the east side I didn't now want to give up. Besides, I felt reluctant to risk meeting Hugo in a Fleet Street milieu, where our personal drama might be spoilt by drunken journalists. I led my company down Cheapside.

The evening was by now well advanced. The darkness hung in the air but spread out in a suspended powder which only made the vanishing colours more vivid. The zenith was a strong blue, the horizon a radiant amethyst. From the darkness and shade of St Paul's Churchyard we came into Cheapside as into a bright arena, and saw framed in the gap of a ruin the pale neat rectangles of St Nicholas Cole Abbey, standing alone away to the south of us on the other side of Cannon Street. In between the willow herb waved over what remained of streets. In this desolation the coloured shells of houses still raised up filled and blank squares of wall and window. The declining sun struck on glowing bricks and flashing tiles and warmed the stone of an occasional fallen pillar. As we passed St Vedast the top of the sky was vibrating into a later blue, and turning into what used to be Freeman's Court we entered a Henekey's house.

Here our agreement broke down, largely because of the operation of the rallentando referred to earlier. I was beginning to think by now that it was unlikely that we should meet Hugo, but that we might as well complete the circle. As we went back across Cheapside and turned down Bow Lane they were putting the street lights on. Yellow light from swinging lamps in alleyways fell upon the white walls, revealing ancient names, and darkened the upper air towards night. We noticed a few stars which looked as if they had been there a long time. We turned into the old Tavern in Watling Street. This was just the sort of pub Hugo liked; but he was not therein. As we drank I told the other two that we should visit the Skinners' Arms and then double back to Ludgate Circus.

They had no objection. 'So long,' Finn said, 'as we don't have to waste too much of the good time in walking.' I pulled them out and we approached the Skinners' Arms. This pub stands at the junction of Cannon Street and Queen Victoria Street, under the shadow of St Mary, Aldermary. We rolled in.

When we were well inside the door and I had satisfied myself that Hugo wasn't there, Dave gripped my arm and said, 'There's someone here I'd like you to meet.'

At the end of the long bar, leaning against the counter, was a slim pale individual wearing a red bow-tie. He saluted Dave, and as we came up to him I was impressed by his enormous eyes, which looked at us sad and round and luminous as the eyes of a wombat or a Rouault Christ.

'Meet Lefty Todd,' said Dave, and uttered my name too.

We shook hands. I had of course heard a great deal about the eccentric leader of the New Independent Socialists, but I had never met him before and I studied him now with considerable interest.

'What are you doing here?' he said to Dave. His exhausted anaemic look contrasted with the vigour and abruptness of his speech, and as he spoke he waved vaguely to Finn as if he knew him. Finn is someone who never gets introduced.

'Ask Donaghue,' said Dave.

'What are you doing here?' said Lefty to me.

I don't like being asked direct questions, and on such occasions I usually lie. 'We've been visiting a friend at the office of the Star,' I said.

'Who?' said Lefty. 'I know everyone at the Star.'

'A man called Higgins,' I said, 'he's new.'

Lefty stared at me. 'All right,' he said, and turned back to Dave. 'You don't often come to these parts,' he said.

'I suppose you've been putting the Independent Socialist to bed,' said Dave.

'It's not strictly in bed yet,' said Lefty. 'I've left it to the others!'

He turned back to me. 'I've heard of you.'

I was still feeling annoyed. I didn't make the gauche error of replying to this remark, when uttered by a famous person, with 'I've heard of you too.' Instead I replied, 'What have you heard?' This often disconcerts.

Lefty was not disconcerted. He pondered for a moment and then said, 'That you are a talented man who is too lazy to work and that you hold left-wing opinions but take no active part in politics.'

This was plain enough. 'You were not misinformed,' I told him.

'About the former,' said Lefty, 'I don't care a damn, but I'd like to ask you a few questions about the latter. Have you got time?' He showed me the dial of his watch.

I felt a bit confused by the former and the latter, as well as by the brusqueness of his manner and the amount of beer I had drunk. 'You mean you want to talk to me about politics?'

'About your politics.'

Dave and Finn had drifted away and were sitting in the far corner. 'Why not?' I said.

Eight

'Well, now, let's get clear about where we stand, shall we?' said Lefty. 'What political experience have you had in the past?'

'I was in the Y. C. L. once,' I said, 'and now I'm in the Labour Party.'

'Well, we know what that means, don't we?' said Lefty.

'Practical experience nil. But do you at least keep up to date in a theoretical way? Do you study the political scene?' He spoke with the brisk cheerfulness of a physician.

'Scarcely,' I said.

'Could you say at all clearly why you've given up?'

I spread out my hands. 'It's hopeless...'

'Ah,' said Lefty, 'that's the one thing you mustn't say. That's the sin against the Holy Ghost. Nothing's ever hopeless. Is it, Dave?' he said to Dave, who at that moment was at the counter buying another drink.