Iris Murdoch - The Sandcastle

Tim Burke brought chairs and his guests sat down in the main part of the shop between the counters, while he disappeared into the back regions to fetch glasses and biscuits and the milk which he would offer to Nan and Donald and the whiskey which he would offer to Mor and himself. Behind the shop was Tim’s workshop and his kitchen, and a whitewashed yard with a single sycamore tree in it. Above was the small cottage bedroom with its tiny windows looking on to the street. Mor spread his legs. He was always a bit excited at finding himself inside a closed-up shop. There was something privileged and unnatural about it. On these occasions he noticed a similar excitement in his wife and son. In Tim Burke’s shop they were always agitated and restless. They would not sit down for long, but soon would be roaming about, opening cases and fingering objects. This behaviour made Mor uneasy. It was as if he were watching his family stealing. It never failed, however, to delight Tim Burke, who urged them on.

Tim returned with a large tray, which he set on the counter. He stirred some Ovaltine into a cup of cold milk for Nan, and set the biscuits at her elbow. He said to Mor, ‘What about giving the boy a shot of whiskey this week?’ Tim always said this.

Mor replied, as he always did, ‘Well, not yet I think. What do you say, Don?’

‘I don’t want any,’ said Donald crossly. Tim passed him the milk.

Mor sat swishing his whiskey round thoughtfully, inside a cut-glass tumbler. He had decided to outstay his family and return on the midnight train. He wanted badly to talk with Tim alone. He settled down to wait with impatience.

Nan had got up, and holding her mug of Ovaltine in one hand, began to wander about in the back of the shop, picking up objects here and there. Mor watched her uneasily, Tim Burke with a curious half-concealed satisfaction. The single lamp in the corner cast a golden glow upon the worm-eaten oak shelves, and Nan’s face was bright and dark by turns as she roamed to and fro. Tim Burke, his head turned back, and the darkened side of his face towards Mor, was marked by a golden line down his brow and nose. Donald turned his face into the light, wistful and restless. He rose too and began to walk about, crossing the path of his mother. The whiskey bottle gleamed upon the tray and the glasses flashed intermittently in the hands of the two men - while here and there in the shop the glow of the lamp had found the surface of a precious stone which transformed it and tossed it back as a glittering splinter of light.

Nan had opened one of the cabinets and was picking over a heap of necklaces. She seemed unusually gay and animated. Donald was now at the very back of the shop and had mounted on a chair to examine some shelves. Mor wished that they would stop. He looked at his watch. It was still early.

Donald had found something. He got down and came rather shyly towards Tim Burke with an object in his hand. It was a small ivory box. ‘You still haven’t sold this box, Tim,’ said Donald.

Really! thought Mor, doesn’t Don know how Tim always responds to any remark of this sort - and if he does know, why does he make it?

‘What, that old thing still there?’ cried Tim. ‘You have it, my boy, it’s no use to me. No, of course you can’t pay for it, the tupenny ha’penny thing it is, I got it in a job lot, I daresay, and it cost me nothing. You’ll please me by keeping it.‘

‘What do you want that box for?’ said Mor sharply. ‘Whatever will you use it for?’ He immediately regretted these words. Nan turned quickly towards him, Tim Burke averted his face, and Don blushed scarlet.

‘It’s a nice box,’ Don said, ‘I shall keep things in it.’ He sounded childish in his reply.

Mor wished he could blot out his words. Donald suddenly looked to him extremely young and touching. If he had been a small child Mor might have taken him in his arms to erase the words. As it was, there was nothing to be done, and the words had to stay, wounding both of them. Mor was silent.

Tim, wanting to smooth things over, got up and took his keys and began to open the drawers at the back of the counter. Tim loved showing things. Usually he had his waistcoat pockets full of little nicknacks, rings, cigarette lighters, watches, and such, which he would produce and place suddenly in the hand of his interlocutor. Mor had often seen him do this in a pub. Now Tim began to rifle the drawers and show-cases, keeping up a continuous patter as he did so. ‘See these pearls, the rosy sheen is best, from the Gulf they came, the Persian Gulf — and see how different they look from the cultured ones, your cultured pearl won’t last so well anyhow, though these are good ones indeed — and here, how are these for colour, a pair of sapphires as blue as a cornflower, and if it’s green you want, a fine emerald — afine emerald is the king of gems, an emerald does your eye good, they say, and it will blind a snake. There are no snakes on the Emerald Isle, just paradise without a serpent — and now will you just cast a look at these rocks, how’s that for rocks?’

Tim lifted up a diamond necklace and swung it gently to and fro, holding it by one end. With a rippling movement the stones flashed. Look at the light of it! he said. ‘It needs a fine woman’s neck to show it off. Let me put it on your wife.’

Mor disliked this. It was something Tim often did, and Nan never protested. She came forward now with docility and took off her coat. She was wearing a round-necked summer dress. Tim fixed the diamonds round her neck and stood back to look. The necklace was impressive, but Mor thought it looked out of place. Nan hurried forward to look at herself in the mirror which was fixed behind one of the counters.

‘Diamonds have no mercy,’ said Tim, ‘they will show up the wearer if they can. But you have nothing to fear from them. A queen is the one who can wear them, and a queen you are.’ He was looking over her shoulder into the mirror. He often talked in this flowery strain to Nan, but Mor suspected that he was more aware of the jewels than the woman.

‘They are dazzling!’ said Nan. She took the necklace off and held it in her hand. Then that excitement began to take hold of her which Mor had seen come upon her in the past in Tim Burke’s shop. An animation which he himself could never seem to inspire glowed in her whole person. She wound the diamonds loosely round her wrist like a bracelet, and be — gan to skip about the shop, picking up tiny things, trying on an ear-ring and running to see how it looked, disentangling a string of beads, spreading a fan and fanning herself ostenta — tiously. Donald had resumed his prowling in the back regions. Tim Burke was still rifling the forward cases, drawing Nan’s attention to rings and brooches. The pinpoint fire of jewels lit up here and there throughout the shop, like stars that appear and disappear upon a cloudy night.

‘It’s time you two went,’ said Mor.

‘Ah, it’s early yet,’ said Tim.

‘If you don’t want to rush, you should leave now,’ said Mor. I want to stay and talk shop with Tim.‘ It irritated him to see Nan so gay, and he was aggrieved that he had offended Don and no way had been allowed him to repair his fault.

‘Don’t bother to see us to the station,’ said Nan. ‘Donald will protect me. Don’t let Bill miss his train.’ Serenely she passed into the street. Donald followed, still clutching his box. Mor contrived to touch his shoulder as he went by, but got no answering look. The door closed behind them.

‘Have some more drink, then,’ said Tim Burke.

Mor handed over his glass. The diamond necklace was lying in a heap on one of the tables. Mor picked it up and put it back into the drawer. ‘You’re very casual with these valuable things, Tim,’ he said. ‘How much is that worth?’