Authors: Iris Murdoch
‘We came from Miles to say that he’s very sorry he upset you,’ said Lisa, speaking slowly in a low clear voice.
The big indented head moved slightly. ‘What?’
‘Miles says he’s sorry.’
Bruno was undoubtedly staring at Lisa. His face seemed to unravel a little, the mouth and eyes becoming more evident.
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m —’
‘I think that’ll do, that’s quite enough of a visit,’ said Danby. ‘You’ve had a lovely visit from two nice girls. Doesn’t happen every day, does it, Bruno? Bringing you flowers and all. But we mustn’t overtire you, must we? Say goodbye now. Off we go.’
Since the entry of the two women into the bedroom Danby had felt an intense physical awkwardness almost amounting to sickness. Something about the juxtaposition was suddenly dreadful. Perhaps it was just the onrush of new pity, almost of shame, this glimpse of poor Bruno through unaccustomed eyes, a glimpse of the grey shabby jumbled room, the stained wallpaper and the soiled sheets, the monster-headed moribund old man imprisoned in the smelly twilit box. Danby was so used to Bruno. He saw a person there not pinned by time. But now he wanted to get the women outside and to get outside himself. He fumbled with the door-handle and put out a shielding ushering hand toward Diana.
‘Danby, for Christ’s sake shut up!’ They paused in the doorway. ‘Don’t talk to me as if I were a puling infant! Do you want them to think I’m senile? I’m still a rational being, so have the decency to address me as one. You sit down here,
you.
Please.’
Bruno was still looking at Lisa. Rather laboriously he pulled one arm out of the bed clothes and moved it across the counterpane to point at a chair beside the bed. Lisa sat down.
Danby felt himself being nudged from behind by Diana. He jumped and twitched away at the contact. Diana was murmuring something to him and sliding away through the door. Trying to take hold of his hand she caught hold of a finger and pulled it. Danby half followed her through the door, shuffled with hesitation, made a reassuring gesture as she moved toward the top of the stairs, and then came back into the room and shut the door again. The smell of the narcissus was mingling with the doggy old man odour of the room. Lisa had taken Bruno’s hand.
Danby leaned against the door still feeling the curious panicky giddiness. What was he afraid of? He saw Lisa’s profile now, her face close up to Bruno’s. Was he frightened of the old man on her behalf? It wasn’t quite that.
‘You don’t mind me, do you, my dear?’
‘No, of course not. I’m so glad to see you.’
‘And you brought me flowers.’
‘We both did. And they’re from Miles too.’
‘Miles–you–of course–Miles was cruel, so cruel to the old man.’
‘He’s very sorry. He got upset and muddled. He’s sorry now. He hopes you’ll let him come again.’
‘Danby said it was a mistake to see Miles, all a mistake. A little bit of peace one needs at the end. Miles shouting at me, horrible. You see, I tried to tell him things and he wouldn’t listen, said he didn’t want to know.’ Bruno had lowered his voice to a confidential murmur. The intensity of the girl’s attention to him seemed to have stilled the room. The two heads together, so strange.
‘You mustn’t be too cross with Miles. It was just a muddle really.’
‘He said the past doesn’t exist any more, but it does exist, doesn’t it?’
‘It certainly does things to us.’
‘Exactly. Now
you
understand.’
‘You’ll have to get to know Miles again. Talk to him about more ordinary things. It’ll take a bit of time.’
‘There isn’t much time left, my dear. And no ordinary things. Only last things. Danby.’
‘Yes, Bruno.’
‘Pour us some champagne.’
Danby took a champagne bottle from the dusty little queue upon the floor. There were two glasses on the table. He began to ease out the cork. It flew gaily up into the topmost corner of the room, alarming the
Tegenaria atrica
who was drowsing there, and the creamy champagne cascaded into the glass. The brusqueness of the gesture gave relief. He handed the glass to Lisa who handed it to Bruno. Danby filled the other glass and gave it to Lisa, reaching it across the bed.
‘You two–share the glass–drink with me.’ Bruno sipped the champagne.
Lisa, who was still holding Bruno’s other hand, gave the glass to Danby with a smile. He drank. It was all very odd.
‘Would you turn the lamp on, Danby?’
The window and the hurrying sky were gone. The shaded light shone upon Bruno’s huge nose pendant over the grey stubble which grew so painfully out of the many crevices which had defeated Nigel’s razor, and upon Lisa’s rather long hands, one of which she now raised to release the heavy tangle of her dark hair from the scarf which was hanging loose about her neck.
‘You see, my dear, when you’re my age there’s not much left except you want to be loved.’
‘You are loved.’ Lisa looked at Danby across the bed. Her face was obscure, outside the circle of light.
‘At my age you live in your mind, in a sort of dream.’
‘I think we all do that.’
‘At the end there’s nothing left to do. It’s all just thought.’
‘Thinking is doing something.’
‘One turns into a monster at the very end. I just frighten people now, I upset them, I appal them, I know. I can’t change anything in the world any more.’
‘Yes, you can. You can think kind thoughts, you can send a nice message to Miles. Do send a message to Miles.’
‘A message–Well, you can tell him–I didn’t mean–what I said at the end.’
‘I’m so glad.’
‘Do you think it matters if people curse you? I did a terrible thing–my wife was dying and I didn’t go to her–she cursed me I think–I wanted to tell Miles that–you see there was this girl–and even the spiders–’
‘Oh stop it, Bruno,’ said Danby. ‘I mean you’re getting over-excited. I think that’s enough for one visit now. And don’t be cross with me.’
Bruno relaxed, crumpled back a little among the pillows, the light now showing his eyes, dark liquid terribly vital slits in the chaos of his face where the lipless mouth opened amid the grey stubble. ‘All right.’
‘He doesn’t usually have his champagne so early in the day.’
‘You will come back, my dear, you’ll come back and see the old man and let him tell you things?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘And Miles will come too. And I’ll tell him what you said.’
‘What did I say? Well, it doesn’t matter. Drink again, both.’
Danby took a gulp of champagne and gave the glass to Lisa. She drank looking up at him, returned the glass, and leaned back toward Bruno, stroking his knotted hand and thin sticklike spotted arm.
‘Ah, you have such lovely hands–and those half moons, just like–’
Lisa leaned forward and kissed him close to his still moving mouth and then rose quickly. She made a movement as if giving a benediction and retreated towards the door.
‘I’ll just show her out–be back–’ Danby mumbled. He fell out of the door after Lisa. He stared at her in the grey darker light of the empty landing, then with a rather timid and deliberate movement took hold of the sleeve of her brown mackintosh and pulled her across the landing and into Nigel’s room, which was empty. He stared down at her.
‘Look, you were so kind, so good to him–’
‘I’m used to old people.’
‘Would you really come again to see him?’
‘Of course, if he’d like it. But he may have forgotten tomorrow.’ She spoke quickly and rather brusquely as if resuming a professional role. She pulled the yellow scarf up over her head, tucking heavy locks of dark brown hair back into the upturned collar of her coat.
‘He won’t have. You’d have time, some morning?’
‘Mornings would be impossible except at the weekend. I’m working in a probation officer’s office at Poplar. I come home by tube every day about five thirty. I could come after that.’
‘Could you come tomorrow?’
‘I’d better telephone first. I’ll ring up when I’m leaving work. Would someone be in then?’
‘Yes, yes, I’ll see to it that I am. I can’t tell you how grateful–’
Danby ran down the stairs after her. The hall door was open. It was lighter outside now, a grey damp metallic light shed from gleaming clouds. He caught a glimpse of Diana talking to Will Boase who was painting the iron railings in front of the house. Diana turned towards Danby and waved, her pink and white harlequin arm raised like a signal in the empty glittering street. Danby hesitated, waved, and then closed the door behind Lisa. He came back into the sad brown obscurity of the house and sat down upon the stairs. Suddenly he began to shed tears.
A
DELAIDE, WHO COULD
hear through the open door that somebody was coming down the stairs, attempted to release her hand which Will had gripped. Will resisted, squeezing her fingers painfully hard and thrusting his bulky body up against her. Adelaide kicked him as violently as she could on the ankle and pulled herself away. In the doorway she ran into Mrs. Greensleave who had been regarding the last part of the struggle with amusement.
‘Would you mind telling Mr. Odell that I’m just outside when he comes down?’
Adelaide said nothing, but went on down the stairs into the kitchen which was below the level of the street. The kitchen was rather like a dug-out and smelt of damp earth. From here she could both see and hear Mrs. Greensleave and Will who were now in conversation beside the railings, outlined in a fugitive brightness of cloudy sun. Adelaide studied Mrs. Greensleave’s legs.
‘What a pretty colour of blue you’re painting the railings,’ said Mrs. Greensleave.
‘Yes, it is rather good. A sort of Cezanne blue.’
‘Oh, you know about Cezanne! Good for you. Did you choose the colour or did Mr. Odell choose it?’
‘I chose it. Mr. Odell doesn’t know one colour from another.’
‘I’m not surprised! Do you work here?’
‘I am working here, but I don’t work here.’
‘How absolute the knave is!’
‘Shakespeare. I’m the odd job boy.’
‘And a very learned one! Do you work for a firm or on your own?’
‘I’m what they term self-employed. And as I’m not a very exacting employer I’m usually unemployed. I’m on National Assistance.’
‘Oh, hard luck.’
‘For doing nothing, it’s princely.’
‘I see you’re a philosopher, too! What’s your name?’
‘Will.’
‘Would you come and paint our house, Will?’
‘Why?’
‘I’d like to help you. And our house needs painting.’
‘Maybe. I’ll think about it.’
‘I can see you’re good at painting, being an admirer of Cezanne!’
‘I’m good at better things than painting.’
‘What else are you good at?’
‘Drawing, photography, acting–’
‘Acting? That explains your knowledge of Shakespeare.’
‘My general culture explains my knowledge of Shakespeare.’
‘Sorry, Will! Yes, I can see you as an actor. You’ve got a fine head. And if I may say so, I like the way you trim your moustache.’
‘You’ve got a fine head too. I could do your photograph. Make you look even more stunning.’
‘Maybe. I’ll think about it! You’re a nice boy, Will. Are you what’s her name’s boyfriend, the maid, what is her name?’
‘Adelaide. Adelaide de Crecy.’
‘Dear me, what a grand name.’
‘What a grand girl.’
‘Well, I wish you joy.’
‘Where’s your house?’
‘Kempsford Gardens, by West Brompton tube station. I’ll write it down.’
‘Maybe I’ll telephone you. Maybe I won’t.’
‘Oh please do! Keep still a moment, Will, you’ve got some blue paint in your hair. I’ll just try to wipe it off with this bit of paper. You’ve got such nice hair, it seems a pity to dye it blue.’
Adelaide opened the kitchen window a little so that she could close it again with a resounding crash. She selected the last but one teacup of the older Wedgwood set and dropped it on the stone floor. Then she left the kitchen, slamming the door behind her, and went into her own room. She saw that there was a long streak of blue paint on the skirt of the frilled chiffon dress which she had put on for Danby’s day at home. She took off the dress and kicked it into a heap in the corner. She took off her Irish enamel necklace and matching bangle. She put on her oldest overall and lay down on the bed. A few tears overflowed from her eyes.
Danby had not shared her bed last night or the night before. There was nothing very unusual in this but it always depressed her. The night before he had left a note saying he would be in very late. Last night there had been something a trifle self-conscious about the way in which he had said, ‘Not tonight, I think, Adelaide–I’ll go in my own place tonight. I want to read a bit.’ He never read, as she knew perfectly well, since he was too tired and too tipsy when he came to bed to do anything except make love and fall asleep, and indeed he very often fell asleep in the middle of the love-making and had to be shifted by savage jabs and shoves which still failed to wake him up. Last night his light had gone out and his snores had been heard immediately after he had left her.
Adelaide lived in a perpetual state of anxiety in a world of important signs the exact bearing of which constantly eluded her. She lived like an animal, seeing nothing clearly beyond her immediate surroundings, hiding at movements, sniffing, listening, waiting. She could see the kitchen, the paint on her dress, the broken Wedgwood cup. But even Stadium Street was already a mystery to her: and the two largest portents in her life, Danby and Will, were almost entirely mysterious and terrifying. In relation to Will the feeling of terror was not entirely unpleasant, and of course she had known Will such a long time. Will scaring her, shouting at her, twisting her arm, though it was incomprehensible, was at least something familiar. But Danby’s quiet lazy comportment, his preoccupied smiles and unaccountable defections, although she ought by now to have been used to them, were read in trembling as one might try to read one’s death sentence in a foreign language.
She wondered if life were like that for other people and thought it could not be so. It was patently not like that for Danby. And there were married people who knew that they would be together for ever and if anything was nasty or muddled it was only temporary. And there were people who did important work and had their names printed on official lists. And people with grand families and property. These people belonged to the structure of the world, to which Adelaide did not feel herself in any way attached. She felt like something very small which rattled around somewhere near the bottom and could quite easily fall out of a hole without anybody even noticing. Her greatest certainty was Danby, and what kind of certainty was that? He had talked about her old age, but what did that mean? Anybody could pension off a servant. He had absolute power over her status and her being. And how little she really knew him. She could hear Danby’s voice saying, ‘Let’s give it all a miss from now on, Adelaide, shall we?’ in just the same casual tone in which he had said ‘Not tonight, I think’ and, so long ago, ‘What about it?’