Read A Fairly Honourable Defeat Online
Authors: Iris Murdoch
A Fairly Honourable Defeat (37 page)
Simon sat rigid with fear and horror. He both detested and feared violence of any description. He had never experienced it and scarcely ever glimpsed it. His immediate instinct was to keep absolutely still. He moved his eyes cautiously towards the door which led into the kitchen. The door had a little glass window in it and through the window he could see the faces of two Chinese waiters observing the scene. The Chinese had their own troubles. They lived there. This part of Fulham had its petty criminals, or so Simon had read in the paper. The Chinese waiters probably knew this lot already. One could not blame them for not intervening. Five violent men can paralyse a much larger group of ordinary citizens, and behind the kitchen door there were only the two waiters and the elderly cook. The rest were women. They’ll have telephoned for the police, thought Simon. There is absolutely nothing that I can do. With a trembling hand he quietly lifted the menu up again in front of him, peering surreptitiously over it.
‘Rotten nigger!’ said one of the youths. The Jamaican had lifted his two hands to protect his face. One of the group moved behind the chair and pinioned the man’s arms from behind, while another struck him again casually and began to press his knuckles into his eyes. The Jamaican’s head went back. The blood was trickling from his nose. Why doesn’t he cry out? thought Simon in anguish. How can he be silent like that? ‘Rotten lousy nigger.’ There was the sound of another blow.
Simon rose to his feet. He felt near to fainting. Cold anger kept him conscious and kept him upright. His trembling legs functioned. He walked over to the group who turned their heads lazily towards him. The man behind the chair did not release his victim.
‘Stop that,’ said Simon. ‘You can’t do that.’ He was almost too breathless with fear and anger to be able to speak properly. He noticed that the two youths nearest to him were armed, one with a piece of iron piping and the other with a bicycle chain.
‘We’re doing it!’ said the leader of the group, a huge fair lout with fluffy hair. He still had his fist pressed onto the Jamaican’s face, forcing the head back. ‘Any objections?’
‘You stop,’ said Simon, gasping for breath.
‘Look who’s here,’ said another of them. ‘A fucking queer. Listen to his squeaky little voice.’
‘Want those pretty looks spoilt mister?’ said the youth with the bicycle chain. ‘We don’t like pooves. Want to have this wrapped round your head, do you?’ He swung the chain suggestively.
‘Give him the treatment, Sid.’
Simon tried to step back, but one of the louts had already laid a large steely hand upon his arm. The grip was tightened, the arm was slowly twisted. Simon stood gazing at them, his eyes wide with fright. He knew now why the Jamaican had not cried out. He could not have uttered a sound. He waited for the blow.
There was a faint noise behind him. Never had anything been more welcome to Simon’s ears. Someone had opened the door of the restaurant and entered from the street. There was a moment’s silence. Then Axel’s voice said, ‘What on earth is going on here?’
Simon was released and he stepped quickly backward. Axel, Julius and Tallis had just come into the restaurant. Axel advanced. ‘What’s this?’
The fluffy haired youth, who seemed to be the leader, pulled the Jamaican round chair and all and let him go with another resounding cuff on the side of the head. ‘We’re operating on this nig nog. You want to be operated on too?’
Simon edged away. He could see Julius’s face alight with thrilled fascinated interest, his gaze now fixed on Axel.
‘Listen, my man,’ said Axel, ‘in this country—’
‘Want your face smashed, or what? Lend me the chain, Bert.’
‘People like you—’ Axel was continuing, raising his voice.
Julius’s eyes were gleaming with pleasure, his moist lips slightly parted.
The fluffy-haired youth moved towards Axel. The next moment something happened very quickly. Tallis moved in from behind Julius and before anyone could shift or cry out he had struck the youth very hard across the side of the face. He struck him with the flat of his hand but with such violence that the boy staggered back against his companions and almost fell to the floor.
Simon clenched his fists. If there were a general fight now he felt he was ready for it. Axel was staring at Tallis with an air of puzzlement. Julius was smiling with irrepressible delight. Tallis stood hunched like an animal.
‘Fucking hell,’ said the fluffy-haired youth, his hand to his face.
‘Come on,’ said one of his companions.
The next moment they were all trooping off. The restaurant door slammed behind them.
‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ said the Jamaican.
Tallis sat down on a chair.
‘That blow was
terrific!
’ said Julius.
terrific!
’ said Julius.
He was drinking whisky with Simon and Axel at their house. They were all in a state of high excitement. It was two hours later.
‘My God, it was impressive!’ said Axel. ‘Do you know, we all acted characteristically. Simon intervened incompetently, I talked, you watched, and Tallis acted.’
‘It was perfect,’ said Julius.
By mutual consent the Chinese meal had been abandoned. Then it seemed wiser to leave the area before the louts changed their minds or returned with reinforcements. They had put the Jamaican into a taxi to return to his hotel. He had turned out to be a secretary attached to a visiting delegation. Tallis had set off for the police station where a statement had to be made. He had refused to come to Barons Court afterwards for a drink.
‘How awfully nice that man was and so jolly dignified.’
‘What a first impression of England!’
‘I do wish we could have persuaded him to come round.’
‘He was rather shaken, poor chap.’
‘Tallis was rather shaken too. He was trembling afterwards, did you see?’
And I am trembling now, thought Simon. He was still reliving those awful moments of violence. Suppose they hadn’t arrived in time? He quickly drank some more whisky.
‘Well I must say I did enjoy that,’ said Julius. ‘I was looking forward to this evening. I didn’t know it would be quite so glorious. ’
‘Yes, Tallis was quite upset,’ said Simon.
‘If we’d hit someone like that we’d be upset too,’ said Axel.
‘I don’t think I could ever hit anyone,’ said Simon.
‘Nor could I,’ said Julius.
‘You surprise me, Julius,’ said Axel. ‘I think I might be able to.’
‘Whom and when?’
‘Well—I daresay I could hit Simon under certain circumstances! ’
Axel and Julius laughed.
‘Under
what
circumstances?’ said Julius.
what
circumstances?’ said Julius.
They both laughed again.
Simon thought, quite soon I am probably going to be sick or to burst into tears. I had better get out of the room first. He got up and began to make quietly for the door.
As he passed behind Axel’s chair Axel reached up a hand and gripped Simon’s jacket. ‘Simon.’
‘Yes.’ Simon shuddered.
‘I think you were very brave, my darling.’ Axel’s hand fumbled for his arm and squeezed it.
All is well now between us, thought Simon.
Axel’s head was turned towards him. Over Axel’s head Simon could see Julius’s face, still radiant with delight. The radiant face compulsively drew Simon’s glance. As he now turned to the door Julius slowly and deliberately winked at him.
Simon got as far as the kitchen. He thought, I am a rotten swine. He put his head down on the kitchen table and wept.
PART TWO
CHAPTER ONE
AS BIG BEN WAS CHIMING TEN O’CLOCK Rupert Foster entered his room in Whitehall. Give or take a minute or two, this was his invariable time of arrival. The big square window showed him St James’s Park, feathery with high summer, the curving lake pale blue enamel under a clear sky, and the Palace as hazy and tree-blurred as any gentleman’s residence in the deepest country. Rupert sighed with satisfaction.
He laid his copy of
The Times
down on the desk. He had almost finished the crossword in the train. He hoped one day to create a record by finishing it. The room was business-like and pleasant. Some of Rupert’s colleagues introduced knick-knacks, coloured photos of the family, even flowers. Rupert could not approve of that. He had gone so far as to adorn the white walls with a set of eighteenth-century architectural drawings which he had bought at a sale. For the rest, there was government furniture of no outstanding ugliness. The carpet was thick, the desk immense. Rupert’s papers were set out in neat piles. Papers in neat piles calm the mind. They were weighted down by water-smooth stones brought back by Rupert and his wife from rivers and seas all over Europe.
The Times
down on the desk. He had almost finished the crossword in the train. He hoped one day to create a record by finishing it. The room was business-like and pleasant. Some of Rupert’s colleagues introduced knick-knacks, coloured photos of the family, even flowers. Rupert could not approve of that. He had gone so far as to adorn the white walls with a set of eighteenth-century architectural drawings which he had bought at a sale. For the rest, there was government furniture of no outstanding ugliness. The carpet was thick, the desk immense. Rupert’s papers were set out in neat piles. Papers in neat piles calm the mind. They were weighted down by water-smooth stones brought back by Rupert and his wife from rivers and seas all over Europe.
Rupert opened the window and leaned on the ledge looking out. He was not really a man for holidays and he would have been quite happy not to have any. He liked these ordinary days when he felt the orderly rhythm of life as a physical pulse of well-being. He liked his job and he knew that he did it well. He was never in a hurry. When he travelled it was more to please his family than to please himself. And the cottage in Pembrokeshire was his wife’s toy. Hilda enjoyed scrubbing the tables and drying people’s wet clothes and catering for a week at a time. She undoubtedly had, as he often told her, a Robinson Crusoe complex.
Rupert now woke up every morning with a relieved sense of something nice having happened, and then recalled that his son Peter had decided to return to Cambridge in October after all. Peter’s decision to reject society had been happily short-lived. Hilda’s sister had somehow done the trick, capturing the boy’s affections and making him docile. Peter had even visited his home on two occasions, and had had a long talk with Hilda. It is true that he had chosen times when Rupert would be absent. But Rupert was not unduly worried about Peter’s hostility to himself. It was a phase which would pass. He could remember feeling like that about his own father with whom he had nevertheless been on perfectly good terms generally. Of course he and his father had tended to make a common cause of looking after brother Simon, especially after Rupert’s mother had died.
It was so important to have innocent affections and people to look after. There had always been Simon. Then Hilda, Peter. Now Morgan too. His dear sister-in-law certainly needed looking after. She was a strange case. He had so often discussed her with Hilda, worrying away at the matter with affectionate puzzlement. Morgan had left her husband in order to live with Julius King. Now she had left Julius too. Or had Julius left her? No one seemed to be quite clear about that. Hilda now professed to think that Morgan would end up by going back home again to Tallis Browne. ‘She loves him, she’s married to him, Tallis is her fate.’ Hilda had not always thought that. It was not plain to Rupert why she thought it now. Hilda was very emotional about her sister and Rupert suspected that this new view was simply the outcome of an increasing hostility to Julius. Rupert could understand how people, especially women, might dislike Julius, always assuming they were not in love with him. Julius was so outrageously honest. He never mixed into his behaviour that hazy little bit of falsehood which most people find necessary for the general easing of social intercourse.
No, Rupert did not think that his sister-in-law would return to her husband. As he saw it, Morgan was traversing a serious crisis of identity. Morgan posed as an independent and liberated woman, but she had really led a very sheltered life. She had grown up in the shadow of Hilda. Although Morgan was so much cleverer than her sister she had always been both cherished and dominated by Hilda’s simpler, gentler less problematic nature. School and university studies had absorbed the ferocious energy of Morgan’s youth. There had been a few scrappy love affairs. ‘These men are just no
match
for her!’ he had heard Hilda complaining. Certainly nothing flimsy would do for Morgan. Then there had been what Hilda called ‘the Tallis fantasy’. ‘Morgan’s living in Malory or something.’ Rupert could not quite envisage Tallis as an Arthurian knight. But he could see that the poor fellow could do with a little fantastical refurbishing. ‘Morgan thinks that with Tallis she can combine marriage with giving up the world. There’s a fanatical nun tied up inside that girl.’ Rupert could not quite understand.
match
for her!’ he had heard Hilda complaining. Certainly nothing flimsy would do for Morgan. Then there had been what Hilda called ‘the Tallis fantasy’. ‘Morgan’s living in Malory or something.’ Rupert could not quite envisage Tallis as an Arthurian knight. But he could see that the poor fellow could do with a little fantastical refurbishing. ‘Morgan thinks that with Tallis she can combine marriage with giving up the world. There’s a fanatical nun tied up inside that girl.’ Rupert could not quite understand.
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