Iris Murdoch - The Sandcastle

‘We’ll use the starting-handle,’ said Miss Carter. She was not calm, but intent and fervent. She fetched the starting-handle from the back of the car.

‘Give it to me,’ said Mor. ‘You keep clear, and don’t whatever you do get into the car. When it does rest on three wheels again I’ll try to drive it out.’

Mor got into the Riley for a moment and engaged the hand-brake and the first gear. Then he went behind the car and lay down close to the wheels. He could see the inside back wheel touching the stone which he and Miss Carter had put in place, and the axle resting upon another stone nearer to the river bank. He reached underneath with the starting-handle and began to undermine the stone on which the axle rested, digging hard at its base. Miss Carter came and sat near him, almost invisible in the long grass.

It was easier than Mor had expected to undermine the stone. Perhaps, after all, he thought, this mad plan will work. He felt the stone give slightly and begin to sink. In another moment it would be clear of the axle and the car would be resting upon its three wheels. Mor gave a final dig and drew sharply back.

With a roar of grinding tyres and tearing undergrowth and crumbling stones the Riley lurched over madly towards the river. Mor saw it rise above him like a rearing animal. He rolled precipitately back into the grass and came into violent contact with Miss Carter’s knees. They both staggered up.

‘Are you all right?’ she cried.

Mor did not answer. They ran forward to see what had happened to the car. Another large section of the bank had given way, and the car had slid down and was now balanced with one back wheel and one front wheel well over the edge of the bank. Below it the river, foaming and muddy with the recent avalanche, swept on its way carrying off long reeds and tufts of grass and broken blossoms of meadow sweet.

‘Hmmm,’ said Mor. ‘Well, now I think it’s time to go and get the tractor.’

‘It’s too late for the tractor,’ said Miss Carter in a steady voice.

Mor looked. Then he saw that it was indeed too late.

‘It’s going to turn right over into the river,’ said Miss Carter.

They watched. Very very slowly the big car was tilting towards the water. There was a soft gurgling sound as pieces of the river bank descended and were engulfed. Mor took Miss Carter by the arm and drew her back. There was a moment’s pause, during which was audible the steady voice of the stream and the buzz of the surrounding woodland. The car was poised now, its inside wheels well clear of the ground, its outside wheels biting deep into the soft earth half-way down the bank. Then slowly again it began to move. Higher and higher the wheels rose from the ground, as the roof of the car inclined more and more sharply until it stood vertically above the water. Then with a grinding crash of buckling metal and subsiding earth the car fell, turning over as it went, and came to rest upside down with its roof upon the bed of the stream.

The moment immediately after the crash was strangely silent. The woodland hum was heard again, and the murmur of the stream, now slightly modified as the water gurgled in and out of the open windows of the Riley. The stream was very shallow, and the water did not rise above the level of the windows. The reeds were swaying in the warm air and the dragon-flies darting among the sharp green stems. Everything was as before, except for the dark gash of the broken bank and the spectacle of the Riley lying upside down in the middle of the river, its black and sinister lower parts exposed to the declining sun.

‘Oh dear,’ said Miss Carter.

Mor turned to comfort her. He saw that she was starting to cry.

‘My poor Riley,’ said Miss Carter. And she wept without restraint.

Mor looked at her for a moment. Then he put one arm round her and held her in a very strong grip.

In a moment Miss Carter recovered and disengaged herself quickly from Mor’s hold. Mor offered her a handkerchief.

‘Look here,’ he said, ‘all we can do now is go and find a garage with a breakdown unit and let them deal with this scene. In fact the car isn’t badly damaged - it’s just a matter of pulling it out. It’ll need a crane, but it won’t be difficult. I suggest you go home now in the bus, Miss Carter, and leave me to arrange the rest. I’m deeply sorry about this, and needless to say I’ll pay all the bills. You go home now and have a good rest. I’ll see you as far as the main road.’

‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ said Miss Carter in a tired voice. ‘I’m not going to leave the car. You go and find the breakdown people. I shall stay here.’

‘I don’t like leaving you alone in the wood,’ said Mor. He thought of the woodcutter.

‘Please go,’ said Miss Carter. ‘I’ll stay here. I’d much rather stay with the car.’ She spoke as if it were a wounded animal.

Mor gave up trying to convince her. It was clear to him that she really wanted him away. He turned back on foot along the grassy bridle path, and as he passed the clearing he saw that the man had gone. He passed through the white gate, and almost at once was able to hail a car which took him to a nearby garage. Less than half an hour later a small lorry mounted with a crane conveyed him once more to the river, ripping the ferns and the branches on either side as it bumped along the track.

Miss Carter was standing knee-deep in the water beside the Riley. When she saw them coming she scrambled out. She came straight up to Mor.

‘Listen, she said, ’please go home now. It wasn’t your fault, this thing. It was all my fault for taking you away. Please go home. Your wife will be very worried.‘

‘I must wait and see that everything is all right,’ said Mor.

Miss Carter put her hand on his arm. ‘Please, please go,’ she said. Please, please, please.‘

At last Mor allowed himself to be persuaded. The breakdown men seemed to think that it would not be difficult to lift the Riley; and Miss Carter seemed intensely anxious for his departure. So in a little while Mor turned away and went back alone to the road. When he came in sight of the ford he saw that there was someone there. It was the man from the clearing, who was standing with the water covering his shoes and lapping round his trouser ends. When he became aware of Mor he moved on a step or two into the deepest part of the ford and stopped again, but without looking round. Mor watched him for a moment. Then he turned and began walking in the other direction along the road. It was not long before he met a car which was able to give him a lift as far as the main road. There he caught a bus.

As the bus conveyed Mor along the noisy road towards the outskirts of the housing estate he felt as if he were emerging from a dream. It was only a few hours ago that he had risen from Evvy’s lunch table. What world had he entered in between? Whatever the region was, Mor thought, in which he had been wandering, one thing was certain, that he would never visit it again. At this reflection he felt a mixture of sadness and relief. He looked at his watch. It was after eight. Nan would indeed be worried. He ought to have telephoned her. But somehow it had not occurred to him, so completely insulated had he been by the strange atmosphere of that other world. He shook himself and looked to see the familiar streets appearing. He got off the bus and began to walk quickly past the rows of semi-detached houses towards his own.

As Mor came to the corner of the road where he lived he suddenly paused. A familiar figure had come out from under the shadow of a tree and was hurrying to meet him. It was Tim Burke.

Tim came up to Mor, took him by the wrist, and turning him about began to lead him quickly back the way he had come.

‘Tim!’ said Mor. ‘Whatever is it? We can’t talk now. Look, I must get home. I’m in an awful fix.’