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Authors: Iris Murdoch

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‘No, no, I mean even philosophers are ambiguous so
a fortiori
I am. The thing is just a meditation on a few concepts.’
‘The relation of love to truth and justice and some small matters of that sort, I gather.’
‘Some small matters of that sort! But the application must remain for the individual to decide.’
‘Poor individual. No one ever really looks after him. Now what I want is a sort of case book of morals like a guide to etiquette.’
‘Well, I think we shouldn’t tell Tallis,’ said Hilda, speaking at the same time. ‘What do you feel, Simon?’
‘Morgan will need time to rest and think things out.’
‘Precisely. You
do
see my point. I don’t want her
bothered.
’
‘Ordinary people can’t
apply
philosophy anyway. I doubt if even philosophers can.’
‘People can
use
moral concepts, as you used the concept of truth just now to persuade me. Anyone can do this.’
‘Maybe. But I think moral philosophy is something hopelessly personal. It just can’t be communicated. “If a lion could talk we would not understand him.” Wittgenstein.’
‘Oh Hilda! Axel, look! There’s a hedgehog. He’s just peeping out from behind that delphinium, you can see his nose! A
hedgehog
!’
‘Yes, Simon,’ said Rupert. ‘We meant to tell you about the hedgehog, since you’re so fond of our dumb friends.’
‘Isn’t he sweet? Can you see him Axel?’ Simon was kneeling on the flagstones beside the delphinium. The hedgehog was still, hunching its back, peering shortsightedly and wrinkling up its black moist nose. ‘Do you think he’d mind if I picked him up?’
‘They’re covered with fleas,’ said Axel.
‘Just for a moment. He’s got such a soft furry underside. Now he’s trying to curl up, but they never really do it properly, they’re such defenceless beasts. Ouf, he
is
prickly.’
‘Put him back behind the plants,’ said Axel. ‘You’re frightening him.’
Simon lifted the hedgehog carefully and put it down out of sight at the back of the flowerbed.
‘Mind my
galtonia candicans,
Simon.’
‘Oh Hilda, how marvellous to have a hedgehog. Do you often see him? Do you feed him?’
‘We put out bread and milk and assume it’s him who eats it. I’m terrified he’ll fall into the pool.’
‘They’re incredibly stupid animals,’ said Axel.
‘I’m sure he’d have more sense,’ said Simon.
‘Simon is so sentimental,’ said Axel, ‘he even feels himself bound to rebut a slur upon the intelligence of hedgehogs.’
‘Well, I’m
sure
he has more sense. You
are
lucky. I do wish we had a proper garden. You really should get a cat, Hilda. Think how happy a pussy would be here. Axel won’t let us have a cat—’
‘Please be exact, Simon! We
agreed
that it just wasn’t practicable for us to have a cat.’
‘Well, all right. But I wish you’d have a cat, Hilda, and I could come and visit it. A Siamese perhaps.’
‘I think I’d prefer a plain tabby.’
‘Or perhaps a black and white cat. A black cat with white paws.’
‘And a white face and a white tip to its tail—’
‘No, just white paws, and—’
‘Good God!’ said Rupert.
There was a moment’s silence. Hilda turned to follow his look. A figure had emerged from the drawing room and was standing regarding them across the pool. It was Morgan.
Hilda began to struggle to her feet.
‘Morgan!’ cried Simon, simultaneously with Hilda’s cry.
Morgan was wearing a light grey mackintosh and carrying a blue canvas travelling bag which she now slowly put down at her feet. She stared rather blankly across the pool.
Hilda reached her and uttering a low ‘ooh!’ threw her arms round her sister’s neck. She drew Morgan against her and pressed her cheek against Morgan’s, closing her eyes. ‘Oh thank God you’ve come home—’
Morgan remained completely stiff, then jerked her head away. With a firm pressure of the hand she terminated Hilda’s embrace.
‘You’ve got a swimming pool.’
‘Yes, it’s new.’ Tears flooded into Hilda’s eyes.
‘Morgan—
darling,
’ said Simon. He took hold of her hand which was hanging limply by her side. He seemed about to kiss her cheek but kissed her hand instead. He kissed it several times.
‘My dear,’ said Rupert. ‘Welcome.’ He took hold of Morgan’s other hand and pressed it.
‘Hello, Morgan,’ said Axel. He was fingering the lapel of his jacket.
Morgan drew her hands away. She looked round at them all with vague eyes. She wore oval steel-rimmed spectacles which she now removed and began to clean with a rather dirty handkerchief.
‘Let me give you some champagne,’ cried Simon. ‘Don’t bother, Hilda, she can have my glass.’
Morgan put the spectacles on again, still standing rather stiffly and frowning against the sun. She looked at the champagne, the flowers. ‘Something’s going on. It’s someone’s birthday—’
‘Our wedding anniversary, darling.’
‘I didn’t expect—a lot of people—a party—’
‘It’s only us, Morgan,’ said Simon. ‘Here.’
‘No, thank you, Simon. I don’t want any champagne. I think I’ll take this coat—off.’ She twitched her shoulders and the grey mackintosh fell to the ground. Simon hastened to pick it up.
Hilda, the sudden tears abating, gazed at her sister. Morgan was wearing a very brief very crumpled blue cotton dress. Her straight dark hair was cut boyishly but not very short. Narrow brown eyes and long nervous nose. Her face was bony gaunt and tired. Her figure long-legged and slim. In a sudden quick vision Hilda understood. They had reached an age where the years told. How that gaunt thin look became her. Even the tiredness was a grace. Even the steel-rimmed spectacles were an adornment. Morgan was the handsome one now. ‘Oh my heart!’ said Hilda. She hugged her sister for a moment about the shoulders.
‘We weren’t expecting you for another ten days,’ said Rupert. ‘Look, won’t you sit down?’
‘No, thanks. I know. I decided to fly after all and let the luggage follow. I’ve just come now straight from the airport. Once I decided to come it was agony to stay another hour.’
‘I can imagine that,’ said Hilda. ‘Thank God you
have
come, my darling. I was terrified you’d change your mind.’
‘Morgan, I do wish you’d have a drink,’ said Simon. ‘It would do you good. Let me get you some whisky.’
‘I hope you’re going to stay with us a good long time,’ said Hilda. ‘You’re not just going on somewhere else, are you? What are your plans?’
‘I don’t know what I’m doing,’ said Morgan. ‘I don’t know where I’m going. I have no plans. I have no intentions. I have no thoughts. I have just got off a jet plane and I feel crazy.’ She turned round towards the drawing room.
‘Of course, of course!’ cried Hilda. ‘Come upstairs this minute, you poor sweet. The spare room is all ready. You must rest at once. Rupert, carry her bag, would you. Give me the coat, Simon. Come along, my own darling girl, home at last.’
CHAPTER FOUR
 
‘WHICH ROOM AM I IN?’
‘Here—’
Hilda pushed open the door and Morgan went in followed by her sister and brother-in-law. Rupert put the bag down, hesitated, and then, obeying a signal from Hilda, withdrew. Hilda closed the door.
Morgan looked at the bed which was covered by a heavy green silk bedspread. She slowly pulled the bedspread off onto the floor. She took off her glasses, laid herself carefully face down upon the bed, buried her face in the pillows, and, just as Hilda started to say something, burst into streams of silent tears.
There was a soft dragging sound as Hilda moved a chair across the carpet to the edge of the bed. A moment later she laid her arm across Morgan’s heaving shoulders.
‘Sorry, Hilda, please don’t touch me.’
‘Sorry, darling.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Shall I go away?’
‘No. Just stay here and be quiet.’
There was silence in the room, through the open window a sound of bird song and a murmur of voices where Rupert and Axel and Simon were still talking in the garden.
Hilda had got up and was walking about. Something was thrust against Morgan’s hot cheek. It was a large clean handkerchief. Morgan fumbled to unfold it. More tears, more tears, more tears.
‘Hilda.’
‘Yes, darling.’
‘Could I have a large Scotch on the rocks?’
‘On the—? Oh yes, with ice. I’ll get it at once.’
‘I couldn’t drink—down there—with them.’
‘I won’t be a moment. Would you like anything to eat with it? A little cold lamb? Or aspirins or anything?’
‘No, no, nothing else. Bring the whole bottle, would you. And a jug of water. And two glasses.’
‘Yes, yes, I think some whisky would do me good too!’
As soon as the door closed Morgan sat up abruptly. She sat on the edge of the bed and mopped her face over with the cool handkerchief. The tears were less. She went over to the wash basin and soaked her burning eyes with cold water and dried her face on a crisp starchy embroidered face towel. She put on her glasses and went over to close the window. She returned and looked at herself for some time in the mirror above the basin. She would have liked to say something to herself, something apt, something bracing and encouraging, something witty perhaps; but she could not formulate it and she looked at herself in silence. Then when she heard Hilda’s steps again upon the stair she returned quickly to her prostrate position upon the bed. That moment of self-regard had strengthened her, as she knew it would.
Hilda drew up a low table for the tray and sat down again upon the upright chair. Morgan pulled herself up, arranging pillows.
‘Is this how you like it, sweetheart?’
‘Yes, that’s fine. No water, not at the moment. Just ice. Thanks.’
‘You’re sure you don’t want to rest, to be alone?’
‘No, I want to talk to you. I feel
mad,
Hilda,
mad.
’
‘Take it easy, child.’
‘Whisky’s good. Could you lend me a comb? Thanks.’
‘You’re looking beautiful, Morgan.’
‘I feel a wreck. You’re looking fine, Hilda. You’ve put on weight a bit. You don’t mind my saying so? So has Rupert.’
‘We’re getting old.’
‘Nonsense. So Simon and Axel are still together?’
‘Yes.’
‘No sign of a crack? I wondered if that thing would last.’
‘They seem to be getting on all right.’
‘I’m rather sorry Simon went that way. I suspect Axel doesn’t like me.’
‘He’s just shy.’
‘I remember when we were children you would never admit that anyone disliked anyone! It does happen, you know. Do you have a cigarette?’
‘Yes, I have. Here. Your luggage is following by boat?’
‘Yes. It’s mainly books. Well, some clothes and things. And notebooks and so on. I may not have mentioned it in my letters, but I did quite a lot of work at Dibbins.’
‘Good. Your letters weren’t terribly informative, actually! They moved from the curt to the enigmatic to the frantic. I haven’t really got a picture.’
‘Christ, do you think I have? I don’t know who I am, Hilda. Maybe you’ll have to tell me. It may take some time.’
‘Well, let us have that time, my darling. You will stay here, won’t you, and not go away? Do feel that this is your home.’
‘I have no home. God, your house is elegant, Hilda. Just look at those black and white
toile de Jouy
cushions and that yellow china dog and that set of lustre jugs and that stripey French urn thing, I remember that, into which, if you had known I was coming, you would have put three perfect roses!’
‘Darling, you’re just the same! You always used to mock our domestic arrangements.’
‘Envy, Hilda, pure envy. I’d give my ears for a house like this and a husband like Rupert. A husband that
works.
Functions, I mean. Could I have some more whisky?’
‘I’m afraid the ice is melting.’
‘Haven’t you got a portable ice box? I must buy you one. Except, damn, I haven’t any money.’
‘Don’t worry about money, Morgan. I do want to tell you that. You’ve got enough troubles and it’s
silly
to worry about money if it isn’t necessary. Rupert and I have plenty and you can stay on here—’
‘Well, I’m not totally destitute and if I pick up the old threads I expect I can get a job in England.’

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