Iris Murdoch - Under the Net

I addressed Mars. 'You got me into this,' I told him. 'You can get me out.' I led Mars into the shadow of one of the buildings and looked about me. From that point I could see down one of the side lanes the gates of the main entrance. They stood open, and a troop of mounted police were just riding into the yard. Through the gates I could see a crowd outside who were peering in and the flashing cameras of newspaper men. In between, by the gate itself, was a small group of police to whom the battlefield was invisible because of the buildings, so that I could assume that they had not been witnesses of my recent antics. I turned to Mars. The crucial moment had come.

I stroked him and looked into his eyes, to command his attention for something of the utmost seriousness. He returned my gaze expectantly.

'Sham dead,' I said. 'Dead! Dead. dog!' I hoped that this word was in his vocabulary. It was. In a moment Mars's legs sagged and his body became limp and he slid to the ground, his eyes turning back and his mouth hanging open. It was terribly convincing. I was quite upset. Then I collected my wits and took a quick look at the gate. No one had seen us. I knelt down, and levering Mars from the ground I lifted him over my shoulder. It was as if he weighed a ton. The inertia of his body seemed to glue it to the ground. Bracing my hand against the wall I rose slowly to my feet. Mars's head, with his tongue hanging out, lay swaying against my chest, and his hind-quarters were bumping the small of my back. I set myself in motion.

A I approached the main gate I came into a focus of attention, not only from the police who were keeping the gate, but also from the crowd who were standing outside. As soon as we were well in view a murmur of sympathy arose from the crowd. 'Oh, the poor dog!' I could hear several women saying. And indeed Mars was a pathetic sight. I quickened my pace as much as I could. The police barred my way. They had their orders to let no one out.

'Now then!' said one of them.

I strode resolutely on, and when I was close to them I cried out, in tones of urgency, 'The dog's hurt! I must find a vet! There's one just down the road.'

I was in mortal terror all this time lest Mars should tire of the game. He must have been extremely uncomfortable hanging there with the bones of my shoulder pressing into his stomach. But he endured. The policeman hesitated. 'I must get him attended to at once!' I repeated.

A cross murmur began to rise from the crowd. 'Let the poor chap out to get his dog looked after!' said someone, and this seemed to express the general sentiment.

'Oh, all right, out you go!' said the policeman.

I walked through the gates. The crowd parted with respectful and sympathetic remarks. As soon as I was clear of them and saw in front of me the wide open expanse of New Cross Road, unenclosed and empty of police, I could bear it no longer.

'Wake up! Live dog!' I said to Mars; as I knelt down he sprang from my shoulder, and together we set off down the road at full pelt. Behind us, diminishing now in the distance, there arose an immense roar of laughter.

Thirteen

It was hours later, or so it seemed to my feet, and we were still walking along the Old Kent Road. It was some time now since my triumph at having escaped so cleverly had given place to dejection at finding that I had no money and that there was nothing for it but to keep on walking northward. There had been a moment when I had thought of taking a taxi and making Dave pay at the other end, and the reflection that Dave had already paid for one taxi for me that evening and might have no more ready cash would not have deterred me had I been able to find a taxi; but to those southern wastes the cruising taxi never comes and it was long since I had dismissed this as a hopeless vision. I would have telephoned for help, only I had already foolishly spent my last pence on a copy of the Independent Socialist, the next day's edition of which was already being sold to the crowd coming out of a cinema. The paper carried a report of the meeting at Bounty Belfounder and some pictures of the fight. A dramatic photograph of me and Mars coming out of the main gate was captioned: A Canine Victim of Police Brutality. The pubs had been shut for a considerable time and the road was deserted. The cinema crowd had been the last sign of life. Even Mars looked dejected; his head and tail drooped and he followed along at my heels by scent alone, never raising his eyes. Perhaps he was hungry. I certainly was. I thought sadly of the pork chop which we had left behind on Sammy's stairs. Maxim: never tread under foot the food which you can put in your pocket.

It was well after midnight when we were trudging across Waterloo Bridge. I had the impression that I had had an extremely long day; and when we reached the north side of the bridge it was clear to me that I could go no farther. It was another cloudless night, with air like warm milk, and we stood for a while looking at the river, not to admire its beauty but because it was necessary to stand still. My feet felt as if they had suffered centuries of attrition, and my body was present to me in a variety of aches and pains which made the external world almost invisible. Then Mars and I jolted wearily down the steps. If you have ever tried to sleep on the Victoria Embankment you will know that the chief difficulty is that the seats are divided in the middle. An iron arm-rest in the centre makes it impossible to stretch oneself out. I am not sure whether this is an accidental phenomenon or whether it forms part of an L. C. C. campaign against vagrancy. In any case it is very inconvenient. Various systems are possible. One may try to use the arm-rest as a pillow, or one may lie with one's knees raised over it and one's feet on the other side. Or again one may resign oneself to curling up on one half of the seat. This is a very cramped position even for someone as short as myself; but if one is a restless sleeper, as I am, this is probably the best method, and it was this that I chose. Before reposing I wrapped the pages of the Independent Socialist carefully round my legs, and tied them into position with my tie and my handkerchief. Newspaper is a good insulator, as every vagabond knows. I only wished I could have afforded two copies. Then I lay down. Mars got up on to the other half of the seat. We slept.

I awoke and it was still night. The stars seemed to have moved a long way. I was feeling stiff with cold. Then Big Ben struck three. Only three! I groaned. I lay for a while in an agony of stiffness. I tried chafing my limbs, but the effort to do so was so painful that it hardly justified the results. I sat up feeling totally miserable. Then I thought of Mars. He was still there, sleeping soundly and snoring gently as he slept. Shivering and solitary I sat looking at him, while on either side the deserted pavements stretched away under lofty street lamps which lit a lurid green in the motionless leaves of plane trees and revealed below them the rows of empty seats each one as uncomfortable as ours. Naked as a bridge in a picture on which no one will ever tread, Waterloo Bridge brooded over the river. I stood up and the blood ran thick and painful into my feet.

Mars was an image of Sleep. At first I just felt annoyed that he should be sleeping so peacefully while I was awake and cold. Then I began to remember stories of men in lifeboats who had been saved by being kept warm by faithful dogs. Indeed I'm not sure that I didn't get this idea from one of Mars's films. With some difficulty I wakened Mars and made him move up sufficiently for me to lie beside him. It was true. His body was radiantly warm from nose to tail. For a while we shifted about, trying to find a position which suited us both. At last we settled down with my face thrust into the loose fur of Mars's throat and his hind legs curled into my stomach. He licked my nose. It must have been like licking a block of ice. I stretched out a random hand and drew it over his head. Out of his ears it would have been no hard task to have made silk purses. And as I fell asleep I was remembering how much in my childhood I had wanted to have a dog and how thoroughly my elders had made me feel this wish to be extravagant and unseemly until it had faded sadly into a secret dream, and been replaced in about my ninth year by an equally profound yearning to be the owner of an Aston Martin.