The Green Knight (15 page)

 

 

When he woke next morning he rose as usual and pulled back his curtains. The sun was shining. The trees in nearby gardens were radiantly green and shapely, displaying their motionless leaves. He opened the window to a warm smell of roses. He thought suddenly: I had such a terrible nightmare. Then he thought: but it's true, it
all happened. What am I to do now
, what am I
ever
to do? He walked into the kitchen and looked at the thing which lay beside the sink. He thought, I must get rid of it somehow, I must take it somewhere. He wrapped it up in paper and put it away in a cupboard. He got dressed. He thought, Lucas will ring me. Then he thought,
no he won't
. But what has happened, what happened to that man, what did Lucas do after I left, is the man still lying there in the bushes –
ought I to go and look
? No, and in any case he had no idea, where, in what derelict park or garden, the terrible thing had occurred. It had occurred, it had
happened
, and could never in his life be unhappened, never removed, a huge deadly black scar lasting forever. But what has happened next, what
will
happen, to him, and to Lucas? In some dim light, perhaps the light of the glow-worms, he thought he had seen the man's face – but that was impossible – he had just gained an impression of him. What was he doing there so late at night in that dark place, by what accident was he, just then, just there? Who was he, had he been following Lucas, was he connected with Lucas? What did it all
mean
? Then Clement thought – of course – there were no glow-worms. And for a second he felt a strange terrible sharp pang, in thinking of the use to which that innocent memory had now been put. It was only in a secondary way, or at a deeper level, that Clement in his first state of shock, thought: Lucas intended to kill me. He made some tea. He sat beside the telephone. It was no use telephoning Lucas, who of course would not answer. In any case, Clement was
afraid
. Ought he to go over to Lucas's house? He was afraid to go. He tried to write a letter to Lucas. It was impossible. He rang the theatre, he rang his agent, cancelling appointments. An actress, an old friend, rang up asking advice. He gave it. Time passed. Clement made some more tea. His hand was trembling. He could not eat, he could not sit still, he walked up and down. His life, his whole being, had been suddenly destroyed. He had another thought: Lucas had gone home and committed suicide. Lucas had often talked of suicide, but Clement had not taken this seriously. But if Lucas thought of suicide was it not likely, in his character, to have the means? Clement then remembered his dream about the Grail – only it was not the Grail – it was the poisoned chalice, to be drunk first by Clement, then by Lucas. Clement began to groan and moan as he walked. Supposing Lucas had expected him to come, and then killed himself because he did not come. Clement rang Lucas's number and stood shuddering as he held the telephone. No answer. He also thought, if Lucas wanted to kill Clement and then himself he could have done it any time, anywhere, in his flat. Why that laborious stage set? Perhaps Lucas did intend suicide but simply did not want it to be connected with Clement. He continued to walk, now slowly now suddenly fast. He lay down on his bed, he lay there shuddering and trying to become unconscious. Time passed. He listened to himself muttering and wailing softly. He closed his eyes. The telephone rang. It was Louise. ‘Oh Clement, have you heard what happened to poor Lucas?' ‘No, what?' ‘He was mugged, someone tried to steal his wallet – he hit the wretched man and now he's in hospital, the man is, not Lucas. Wasn't he brave? He might have been murdered. It's all over the evening papers.' Clement thanked Louise for letting him know. He sat down. He resisted an urge to go out and buy an evening paper. He sat still and breathed deeply. Something awful had been even more degraded, it had been blackened. He couldn't
think
about it, it was unthinkable and inconceivable. He said aloud to himself, ‘Lucas is mad.' Somebody had said that once. But he did not think, even now, especially not now, that Lucas was mad. He sat while tears came overflowing his eyes and running down his cheeks. Why was he crying? Was he not relieved that Lucas was apparently alive and evidently in charge of his wits? Did he want to think that Lucas had killed himself and was lying dead in his drawing-room, perhaps at his desk, while the summer evening darkened the room? He wondered again if he should go round and knock on the door; but he could not. He felt
too tired
. Later that evening Bellamy rang him. ‘You know about Lucas.' ‘Yes, of course.' ‘Has he rung you to say he's going into hiding? I expect you were out.' ‘I was out.' ‘He says he's leaving his house and living somewhere else in London in order to avoid the press.' ‘Thanks for telling me.' After that Clement had heard nothing more of his brother, except for what people told him they had read in the newspapers: at which Clement did not look.

There followed the court case, the charge of ‘undue force', the ‘unworthy suspicions', Lucas's brief fame for ‘having a go' at an enemy of society, then the news that the ‘assailant' had died without regaining consciousness, then silence. Lucas continued to be ‘disappeared', thereby causing much anxiety to those well-wishers who regarded themselves as his ‘family'.

 

‘Why was it meant to happen?'

Lucas said coolly and without hesitation, ‘You know perfectly well why. Why did Cain kill Abel? Why did Romulus kill Remus? I have always wanted to kill you, ever since the moment when I learnt of your existence. Do not let us waste time on
that
.'

‘Yes, but wanting isn't doing – it's not my fault that I existed – I'm not your enemy, I've always done what you wanted, I mean I've always tried to please you – I like you, I love you, you're my brother.'

Lucas said, ‘Of course you have an impulse to utter these empty words. Forces infinitely deeper and more ruthless and more real than your superficial blarney brought about that which was intended but did not happen. All right, it was necessary between us to mention it, now let us consign it to silence.'

‘How can we, I must
understand
, all right, there are “forces” though I don't see why one should give way to them – but I don't understand the whole thing, I mean the thing as a
happening
, I don't know what
happened
, what did you do after I left, why did
you stay
there – Imean – '

‘You are crude and naive. Can't you
think
? The man was alive. I was responsible. I had to see that he got prompt medical attention.'

‘You could have just run out and told someone you'd found a man – '

‘I tell you I was
responsible
– I
had to
look after him.'

‘All right – but you didn't tell anyone, well, about me and – '

‘Of course I didn't. Why should I? That was my affair. I did not propose to suffer a double penalty!'

‘Double?'

‘Yes, having failed to kill you, being accused of the murder of someone else.'

‘You said you hit him with your umbrella – but you weren't carrying an umbrella.'

‘No, but you were.'

‘I thought I'd left it – oh heavens – so you faked it, you pretended – you told me to take the bat away – '

‘I knocked the umbrella against a tree and stained it with blood. Remember,
you were not there
.'

‘And – oh Luc, how awful – all right I understand – but what was he doing, why did you hit him?'

‘He was a witness. He interfered with me at one of the most important moments of my life, perhaps
the
most important moment. I think I hit him out of sheer exasperation. Naturally I didn't mean to kill him, I just happened to have that thing in my hand. Thank you for bringing it back, by the way. Thank you for removing it, if it comes to that.'

Lucas was undoing the brown paper parcel which Clement had laid on his desk. Clement moved forward. What now lay revealed was a baseball bat: the very same bat which had played a major part in the game of ‘Dogs', a considerably more ferocious game than was dreamt of by their mother, to whom Clement did not dare to show his bruises. Looking back, Clement saw the game as being, of course, simply an opportunity for Lucas to torture his younger brother. At the time however it had seemed like a game, and had at first the charms of secrecy. Lucas made the rules, under which he was officially batsman. On rare occasions when Clement held the bat a different set of rules prevailed. At one point Lucas decided to improve the bat by hollowing out a hole in the head and pouring in some molten lead, obtained by melting Clement's toy soldiers. Soon after this, as Clement was at last nerving himself to refuse to play, Lucas decided to put an end to ‘Dogs', possibly because serious damage to his brother might endanger the myth of their mutual affection which Lucas had his own prudential reasons for preserving. In fact, as Clement later saw it, and as is the case in many human situations where such ‘myths' play a part, that which was feigned could not have been successfully so if it had not contained some truth. Something mutual was involved. Clement persisted in admiring and indeed loving his remarkable brother, and Lucas, perhaps because this was so, moved, as it were, into the space which Clement thus made for him. He enjoyed (and not only in childhood) bullying Clement and seemed to appreciate the intelligent nature of Clement's response. So it seemed to Clement; who also told himself that their relationship was a mystery which he, at any rate, proposed to respect. Now, Clement and Lucas looked down in silence at the murder weapon. Then they looked at each other. Lucas sighed. Clement turned back toward the darker end of the room. He sat down on his chair against the books.

He said, ‘Yes, but what was he
doing
– was he trying to assault you, to steal your wallet as they said in court – or what?'

‘He was trying to prevent me from killing you. He succeeded.'

‘Oh – my God – are you sure?'

‘Yes. He rushed forward and tried to grasp my arm. I think he even said “No, no!” '

‘So he wasn't a mugger or a thief, he was – But wasn't he said to be carrying an offensive weapon?'

‛I think my defence lawyer invented that. All I said was that he seemed to be about to attack me. I said it was possible that he did not intend to do so. The press, the public, and my spotless reputation carried the whole thing along. I had no visible motive for killing him. The suggestion that I had used excessive force was soon disposed of. Some doctor suggested that I couldn't have caused so much damage with an umbrella but that was not taken up.'

‘Did they ask you what you were doing in that odd place? Did you say you were looking for glow-worms?'

‘I decided to leave glow-worms out of it. I said I was answering a call of nature.'

‘Perhaps he was too, poor fellow – oh poor innocent fellow – and he didn't regain consciousness to tell his story – who was he anyway?'

‘I don't know.'

‘You mean you didn't want to know. We didn't either. We didn't follow the case – '

‘I appreciate your delicacy. Yes. I didn't want to know, I was present as little as possible and I didn't read about it. I believe he was some sort of shopkeeper. I recall no mention of his family.'

‘Yes. You blotted it all out. Don't you feel regret?'

‘Don't talk foolishly. Of course I feel regret.'

‘Well, where does all this leave us?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Luc, something absolutely terrible has happened. You say you feel regret, I won't ask whether you feel remorse. I'm thinking now about how it all affects
us
, us two, what has happened and will happen to
us
.'

‘Do you mean do I intend to try again? No. I think – this may sound odd – but one man can die for another – all that hatred had to go somewhere.'

‘And it has gone? So he died for me?'

‘Don't romanticise it.'

‘And this means that you forgive me – '

‘What horrible terminology. No I just mean I don't want to kill you. I did want to and I had to try – it was a burden I had long carried, like a duty – which I feel relieved of now.'

‘I'm – I'm glad to hear it – but – '

‘Do you want me to swear that I won't kill you?'

Clement hesitated. (What was the right answer?) ‘Yes.'

‘You disappoint me.'

‘Oh.' (Wrong answer.)

‘Never mind. I swear by my integrity as a historian that I will not kill you or again attempt to do so. Will that satisfy you?'

‘Thanks. But I was wanting to say – to hope – that we can now – without all that bitterness and horror and – be – well – friends – better friends – '

‘What ideas you have! You mean reconciliation, mutual forgiveness, peace, a new understanding? No.'

‘What then?'

‘I don't know. What does it matter? I intend to go away soon to America and I shall probably stay there.'

‘Lucas, don't be so cruel.'

‘Really! I think I'm letting you off lightly.'

‘
You
letting
me
off!'

‘You wanted to “talk it over” and we've done so. I could simply have refused to see you. You wouldn't have liked that, would you?'

‘Well, I don't like this either. I can't help feeling that you owe me something. I feel that we might at least try to salvage something out of this unspeakably awful business – Imean something like I said, we might become closer, like in bearing it together.'