Iris Murdoch - The Sandcastle

So far nothing very remarkable had happened. Felicity was without information about the moment at which witches properly came of age. There had been, it was true, the advent of Angus - but Angus, although he could at times be very strange and startling to Felicity, manifested himself always, with a sort of modesty which she realized to be characteristic of him, in some form which would not shock the sensibility of the other non-psychic people with whom Felicity was surrounded. Her brother, she had at last to conclude reluctantly, was not psychic. He had pretended for a long time to be aware of Angus, but it was now clear to Felicity that it had been only a pretence. He had also taken part with her in various magic rites - but Felicity had noticed with regret that Donald’s attitude to these ceremonies had been distinctly frivolous. Donald did not possess the patient and meticulous nature required for a magician. He would always forget some detail, and then say that it didn’t matter, or start laughing in the middle. In fact, because of Donald’s non-psychic carelessness, the magic rituals had never yet been carried out with completeness; and lack of completeness in magic is fatal.

Felicity had made a careful study of magic from as many original texts as she could lay her hands on. She was distressed to find, however, that almost every magical ceremony that was likely to be any use at all involved the shedding of blood. Felicity was anxious to fulfil her destiny. On the other hand, the notion of, for instance, holding an immaculate white cock between her knees, decapitating it, and drinking the blood from her right hand did not attract her in the least. Eventually she decided that since she was patently under a taboo concerning the shedding of blood, she was at liberty to invent her own ceremonies. This, she felt sure, would be pleasing to Angus, who would be deeply offended at any shedding of blood, particularly animal blood. Angus was very fond of animals. Whether Angus would have liked a human sacrifice Felicity for practical reasons did not specially consider. She had therefore begun to compose her own rites — and on one New Year’s Eve had written, under inspiration, a small compendium of various rituals some of which she had vainly attempted with Donald’s assistance to perform.

Now for the first time Felicity intended to carry out one of these rituals by herself and to carry it out in its entirety. She had decided to wait, before putting her plan into operation, for a manifestation of Angus. Angus had been some time in turning up. That morning, however, she had seen him. He had taken the form of a man on stilts, with very long blue and white check trousers and a top hat. She had met him quite suddenly round the comer of a lane. He was making his way towards a fair which was being held in some fields half a mile farther on. He said nothing, but raised his hat solemnly to Felicity. It was quite early and no one else was about. The sudden appearance of this very tall figure startled Felicity very much for a moment. But then she guessed its identity and immediately ran home to start making her preparations.

This was one of the direst of the rites and also one of the more complicated ones. The paraphernalia had all been col lected beforehand and now lay spread out on top of a large flat rock which was just at the water’s edge. For this particular ceremony it was necessary to choose a place beside water and a time when the sun and the moon were both in the sky at once. Fortunately the moon was rising early and its appearance coincided roughly with low tide. All this Felicity took as a good omen. It was nearly eight o‘clock and there was still a strong light from the sun which was now low down over the headland. The moon was large and pallid, the colour and consistency of cream cheese, risen just above the sea. Felicity climbed out on to the rock, keeping her dripping body well away from the magical apparatus. Her swim had not been recreational. It formed part of the rite. A purificatory wash was essential; also the wearing of a seamless and sleeveless garment. Felicity’s bathing-costume did duty as the latter. She dried herself thoroughly with a new and hitherto unused towel which she had bought that morning.

When she was dry and warm she began to prepare the scene. The water lapped just below the rock, extremely still. It was the dead moment of low tide. Upon the top of the rock Felicity drew a large circle of sand, and within the circle she drew a triangle of salt. In the arcs of the circle which lay outside the area of the triangle she laid small heaps of poppies and dog roses. At the peak of the triangle, which pointed out to sea, she laid her electric torch which had been bound round with St John’s wort. This faced towards the centre of the triangle and was to be illuminated when the ceremony started. In the right-hand apex of the triangle stood a copper cup containing white wine, a new penknife, also purchased that day, some camphor and aloes in a packet, a large bottle of lighter-fuel, a live beetle in a matchbox, the supersonic whistle which Felicity had taken from her brother, and a pack of Tarot cards. In the centre of the triangle stood a tripod under which lay some laurel twigs mingled with wood shavings. Perched in the tripod was a handle-less aluminium saucepan containing milk and olive oil. In the left-hand apex of the triangle lay an image of a human figure about eight inches high which had been made out of Miss Carter’s nylon stockings stuffed with paper. Beside the image lay a fork made of a single hazel twig, since the image must not be touched by hand during the ceremony. There was also a box of matches which Felicity had stuck into the bosom of her bathing-costume.

Now everything was ready. Felicity began to feel nervous and a bit frightened. She looked up and down the coast. There was no one in sight. Only the randomly piled up boulders, shapeless and brown, stretched away in both directions. She looked out to sea. The declining sun was striking its last beams upon the sea. The moon was higher and smaller and less pale. Out of the hazy light a black shape came slowly and steadily towards her, moving very close above the surface of the water. It was a cormorant. It came straight in towards the coast and perched upon a rock a short distance away. Felicity switched on the electric torch. The light shining through a wreath of leaves illumined the uneven surface of the rock.

Felicity opened the ceremony with two silent invocations. The first was the invocation of the Spirit who was to be bound by the rites to perform for her what she desired. This Spirit was not Angus, but a greater than Angus to whom Felicity had not given a name and towards whom she rarely allowed her thoughts to turn. The invocation was wordless. Felicity had written down various spells for use on such occasions, but they had all sounded so silly that she had decided to abandon the vulgar medium of words. She had also decided that it was neither necessary nor desirable to specify exactly what it was that she wanted done. The general nature of the ceremony made that clear enough and the details could safely be left to the Spirit. The second invocation, also wordless, was one which Felicity appended to all her magical activities. It was to the effect that whatever else the Spirit, or spirits, should decide to do as a result of her rites, they should not reveal the future. Felicity had a horror of knowing the future. She feared very much that this might turn out to be one of the penalties of being psychic, and she was uneasily aware that unless they are carefully controlled spirits have a tendency to blurt out things to come.

After that, Felicity took the new penknife and made a small incision in her arm. This was for use later, but she felt, guided here she was sure by Angus, that it was advisable to make the incision before she used the knife for various other purposes. She then cut up the laurel twigs and set light to them. This was not enormously successful. The wooden shavings burnt quite merrily, but the laurels, which were rather green, merely became black at the edges. After several attempts they began to burn a little and the milk and oil in the saucepan became warm. Felicity threw on to the fire first the camphor and then the aloes. The flames began to burn yellow and green and a strange pungent smell arose from under the tripod. After some of the laurel had at last got burnt Felicity allowed the fire to die down and very carefully scraped up some of the ash which she was sure was laurel ash and dropped it into the copper cup of white wine. She stirred it and then lifted it to her lips. It tasted far from pleasant. Felicity took a sip or two and put it down. No more was demanded by the ritual, and she feared to poison herself. She then took the Tarot pack in her hand.