Murphy (5 page)

‘Providence will provide,’ said Murphy.

The imperturbable negligence of Providence to provide goaded them to such transports as West Brompton had not known since the Earl’s Court Exhibition. They said little. Sometimes Murphy would begin to make a point, sometimes he may have even finished making one, it was hard to say. For example, early one morning he said: ‘The hireling fleeth because he is an hireling.’ Was that a point? And again: ‘What shall a man give in exchange for Celia?’ Was that a point?

‘Those were points undoubtedly,’ said Mr. Kelly.

When there was no money left and no bill to be cooked for another week, Celia said that either Murphy got work or she left him and went back to hers. Murphy said work would be the end of them both.

‘Points one and two,’ said Mr. Kelly.

Celia had not been long back on the street when Murphy wrote imploring her to return. She telephoned to say that she would return if he undertook to look for work. Otherwise it was useless. He rang off while she was still speaking. Then he wrote again saying he was starved out and would do as she wished. But as there was no possibility of his finding in himself any reason for work taking one form rather than another, would she kindly procure a corpus of incentives based on the only system outside his own in which he felt the least confidence, that of the heavenly bodies. In Berwick Market there was a swami who cast excellent nativities for sixpence. She knew the year and date of the unhappy event, the time did not matter. The science that had got over Jacob and Esau would not 
insist on the precise moment of vagitus. He would attend to the matter himself, were it not that he was down to four-pence.

‘And now I ring him up,’ concluded Celia, ‘to tell him I have it, and he tries to choke me off.’

‘It?’ said Mr. Kelly.

‘What he told me to get,’ said Celia.

‘Are you afraid to call it by its name?’ said Mr. Kelly.

‘That is all,’ said Celia. ‘Now tell me what to do, because I have to go.’

Drawing himself up for the third time in the bed Mr. Kelly said:

‘Approach, my child.’

Celia sat down on the edge of the bed, their four hands mingled on the counterpane, they gazed at one another in silence.

‘You are crying, my child,’ said Mr. Kelly. Not a thing escaped him.

‘How can a person love you and go on like that?’ said Celia. ‘Tell me how it is possible.’

‘He is saying the same about you,’ said Mr. Kelly.

‘To his funny old chap,’ said Celia.

‘I beg your pardon,’ said Mr. Kelly.

‘No matter,’ said Celia. ‘Hurry up and tell me what to do.’

‘Approach, my child,’ said Mr. Kelly, slipping away a little from his surroundings.

‘Damn it, I am approached,’ said Celia. ‘Do you want me to get in beside you?’

The blue glitter of Mr. Kelly’s eyes in the uttermost depths of their orbits became fixed, then veiled by the classical pythonic glaze. He raised his left hand, where Celia’s tears had not yet dried, and seated it pronate on the crown of his skull – that was the position. In vain. He raised his right hand and laid the forefinger along his nose. He then returned both hands to their point of departure with Celia’s on the counterpane, the glitter came back into his eye and he pronounced:

‘Chuck him.’

Celia made to rise, Mr. Kelly pinioned her wrists. 

‘Sever your connexion with this Murphy,’ he said, ‘before it is too late.’

‘Let me go,’ said Celia.

‘Terminate an intercourse that must prove fatal,’ he said, ‘while there is yet time.’

‘Let me go,’ said Celia.

He let her go and she stood up. They gazed at each other in silence. Mr. Kelly missed nothing, his seams began to work.

‘I bow to passion,’ he said.

Celia went to the door.

‘Before you go,’ said Mr. Kelly, ‘you might hand me the tail of my kite. Some tassels have come adrift.’

Celia went to the cupboard where he kept his kite, took out the tail and loose tassels and brought them over to the bed.

‘As you say,’ said Mr. Kelly, ‘hark to the wind. I shall fly her out of sight to-morrow.’

He fumbled vaguely at the coils of tail. Already he was in position, straining his eyes for the speck that was he, digging in his heels against the immense pull skyward. Celia kissed him and left him.

‘God willing,’ said Mr. Kelly, ‘right out of sight.’

Now I have no one, thought Celia, except possibly Murphy.

T
HE
moon, by a striking coincidence full and at perigee, was 29,000 miles nearer the earth than it had been for four years. Exceptional tides were expected. The Port of London Authority was calm.

It was after ten when Celia reached the mew. There was no light in his window, but that did not trouble her, who knew how addicted he was to the dark. She had raised her hand to knock the knock that he knew, when the door flew open and a man smelling strongly of drink rattled past her down the steps. There was only one way out of the mew, and this he took after a brief hesitation. He spurned the ground behind him in a
spring-heeled
manner, as though he longed to run but did not dare. She entered the house, her mind still tingling with the clash of his leaden face and scarlet muffler, and switched on the light in the passage. In vain, the bulb had been taken away. She started to climb the stairs in the dark. On the landing she paused to give herself a last chance, Murphy and herself a last chance.

She had not seen him since the day he stigmatised work as the end of them both, and now she came creeping upon him in the dark to execute a fake jossy’s sixpenny writ to success and prosperity. He would be thinking of her as a Fury coming to carry him off, or even as a tipstaff with warrant to distrain. Yet it was not she, but Love, that was the bailiff. She was but the bumbailiff. This discrimination gave her such comfort that she sat down on the stairhead, in the pitch darkness excluding the usual auspices. How different it had been on the riverside, when the barges had waved, the funnel bowed, the tug and barge sung, yes to her. Or had they meant no? The distinction was so nice. What difference, for example, would it make now, whether she went on up the stairs to Murphy or back down them into the 
mew? The difference between her way of destroying them both, according to him, and his way, according to her. The gentle passion.

No sound came from Murphy’s room, but that did not trouble her, who knew how addicted he was to remaining still for long periods.

She fumbled in her bag for a coin. If her thumb felt the head she would go up; if her devil’s finger, down. Her devil’s finger felt the head and she rose to depart. An appalling sound issued from Murphy’s room, a flurry of such despairing quality that she dropped the bag, followed after a short silence by a suspiration more lamentable than any groan. For a moment she did not move, the power to do so having deserted her. No sooner did this return than she snatched up the bag and flew to the rescue, as she supposed. Thus the omen of the coin was overruled.

Murphy was as last heard of, with this difference however, that the rocking-chair was now on top. Thus inverted his only direct contact with the floor was that made by his face, which was ground against it. His attitude roughly speaking was that of a very inexperienced diver about to enter the water, except that his arms were not extended to break the concussion, but fastened behind him. Only the most local movements were possible, a licking of the lips, a turning of the other cheek to the dust, and so on. Blood gushed from his nose.

Losing no time in idle speculation Celia undid the scarves and prised the chair off him with all possible speed. Part by part he subsided, as the bonds that held him fell away, until he lay fully prostrate in the crucified position, heaving. A huge pink nævus on the pinnacle of the right buttock held her spellbound. She could not understand how she had never noticed it before.

‘Help,’ said Murphy.

Startled from her reverie she set to and rendered him every form of assistance known to an old Girl Guide. When she could think of nothing more she dragged him out of the corner, shovelled the rocking-chair under him, emptied him on to the 
bed, laid him out decently, covered him with a sheet and sat down beside him. The next move was his.

‘Who are you?’ said Murphy.

Celia mentioned her name. Murphy, unable to believe his ears, opened his eyes. The beloved features emerging from chaos were the face against the big blooming buzzing confusion of which Neary had spoken so highly. He closed his eyes and opened his arms. She sank down athwart his breast, their heads were side by side on the pillow but facing opposite ways, his fingers strayed through her yellow hair. It was the short circuit so earnestly desired by Neary, the glare of pursuit and flight extinguished.

In the morning he described in simple language how he came to be in that extraordinary position. Having gone to sleep, though sleep was hardly the word, in the chair, the next thing was he was having a heart attack. When this happened when he was normally in bed, nine times out of ten his struggles to subdue it landed him on the floor. It was therefore not
surprising
, given his trussed condition, that on this occasion they had caused the entire machine to turn turtle.

‘But who tied you up?’ said Celia.

She knew nothing of this recreation, in which Murphy had not felt the need to indulge while she was with him. He now gave her a full and frank account of its unique features.

‘I was just getting it going when you rang up,’ he said.

Nor did she know anything of his heart attacks, which had not troubled him while she was with him. He now told her all about them, keeping back nothing that might alarm her.

‘So you see,’ he said, ‘what a difference your staying with me makes.’

Celia turned her face to the window. Clouds were moving rapidly across the sky. Mr. Kelly would be crowing.

‘My bag is on the floor your side,’ she said.

The fall on the landing had cracked the mirror set in the flap. She stifled a cry, averted her head and handed him a large black envelope with the title in letters of various colours. 

‘What you told me to get,’ she said.

She felt him take it from her. When after some little time he still had not spoken nor made any movement she turned her head to see was anything amiss. All the colour (yellow) had ebbed from his face, leaving it ashen. A pale strand of blood scoring the jaw illustrated this neap. He kept her waiting a little longer and then said, in a voice unfamiliar to her:

‘My life-warrant. Thank you.’

It struck her that a merely indolent man would not be so affected by the prospect of employment.

‘My little bull of incommunication,’ he said, ‘signed not with lead but with a jossy’s spittle. Thank you.’

Celia, hardening her heart, passed him a hairpin. Murphy’s instinct was to treat this dun as he had those showered upon him in the days when he used to enjoy an income, namely, steam it open, marvel at its extravagance and return it undelivered. But then he had not been in bed with the collector.

‘Why the black envelope,’ she said, ‘and the different-coloured letters?’

‘Because Mercury,’ said Murphy, ‘god of thieves, planet
par
excellence
and mine, has no fixed colour.’ He spread out the sheet folded in sixteen. ‘And because this is blackmail.’

At time of Birth of this Native four degrees of the
GOAT
was rising, his highest attributes being Soul, Emotion, 
Clairaudience and Silence. Few Minds are better concocted than this Native’s.

The Moon twenty-three degrees of the Serpent promotes great Magical Ability of the Eye, to which the lunatic would easy succumb. Avoid exhaustion by speech. Intense Love nature prominent, rarely suspicioning the Nasty, with inclinations to Purity. When Sensuality rules there is danger of Fits.

Mars having just set in the East denotes a great desire to engage in some pursuit, yet not. There has been persons of this description known to have expressed a wish to be in two places at a time.

When Health is below par, Regret may be entertained. May be termed a law-abiding character having a superior
appearance
. Should avoid drugs and resort to Harmony. Great care should be used in dealing with publishers, quadrupeds and
tropical
swamps, as these may terminate unprofitably for the Native.

Mercury sesquiquadrate with the Anarete is most malefic and will greatly conduce to Success terminating in the height of Glory, which may injure Native’s prospects.

The Square of Moon and Solar Orb afflicts the Hyleg. Herschel in Aquarius stops the Water and he should guard against this. Neptune and Venus in the Bull denotes dealings with the Females only medium developed or of low organic quality. Companions or matrimonial Mate are recommended to be born under a fiery triplicity, when the Bowman should permit of a small family.

With regards to a Career, the Native should inspire and lead, as go between, promoter, detective, custodian, pioneer or, if possible, explorer, his motto in business being large profits and a quick turnover.

The Native should guard against Bright’s disease and Grave’s disease, also pains in the neck and feet.

Lucky Gems. Amethyst and Diamond. To ensure Success the Native should sport.

Lucky Colours. Lemon. To avert Calamity the Native should have a dash in apparel, also a squeeze in home decorations. 

Lucky Days. Sunday. To attract the maximum Success the Native should begin new ventures.

Lucky Numbers. 4. The Native should commence new
enterprises
, for in so doing lies just that difference between Success and Calamity.

Lucky Years. 1936 and 1990. Successful and prosperous, though not without calamities and set-backs.

‘Is it even so,’ said Murphy, his yellow all revived by these prognostications. ‘Pandit Suk has never done anything better.’

‘Can you work now after that?’ said Celia.

‘Certainly I can,’ said Murphy. ‘The very first fourth to fall on a Sunday in 1936 I begin. I put on my gems and off I go, to custode, detect, explore, pioneer, promote or pimp, as occasion may arise.’

‘And in the meantime?’ said Celia.

‘In the meantime,’ said Murphy, ‘I must just watch out for fits, publishers, quadrupeds, the stone, Bright’s—’

She gave a cry of despair intense while it lasted, then finished and done with, like an infant’s.

‘How you can be such a fool and a brute,’ she said, and did not bother to finish.

‘But you wouldn’t have me go against the diagram,’ said Murphy, ‘surely to God.’

‘A fool and a brute,’ she said.

‘Surely that is rather severe,’ said Murphy.

‘You tell me to get you this … this …’

‘Corpus of deterrents,’ said Murphy.

‘So that we can be together, and then you go and twist it into a … into a …’

‘Separation order,’ said Murphy. Few minds were better concocted than this native’s.

Celia opened her mouth to proceed, closed it without having done so. She despatched her hands on the gesture that Neary had made such a botch of at the thought of Miss Dwyer, and resolved it quite legitimately, as it seemed to Murphy, by 
dropping them back into their original position. Now she had nobody, except possibly Mr. Kelly. She again opened and closed her mouth, then began the slow business of going.

‘You are not going,’ said Murphy.

‘Before I’m kicked out,’ said Celia.

‘But what is the good of going merely in body?’ said Murphy, thereby giving the conversation a twist that brought it within her powers of comment.

‘You are too modest,’ she said.

‘Oh, do not let us fence,’ said Murphy, ‘at least let it never be said that we fenced.’

‘I go as best I can,’ she said, ‘the same as I went last time.’

It really did look as though she were going, at her present rate of adjustment she would be gone in twenty minutes or half an hour. Already she was at work on her face.

‘I won’t come back,’ she said. ‘I won’t open your letters. I’ll move my pitch.’

Convinced he had hardened his heart and would let her go, she was taking her time.

‘I’ll be sorry I met you,’ she said.

‘
Met
me!’ said Murphy. ‘Met is magnificent.’

He thought it wiser not to capitulate until it was certain that she would not. In the meantime, what about a small outburst. It could do no harm, it might do good. He did not feel really up to it, he knew that long before the end he would wish he had not begun. But it was perhaps better than lying there silent, watching her lick her lips, and waiting. He launched out.

‘This love with a function gives me a pain in the neck—’

‘Not in the feet?’ said Celia.

‘What do you love?’ said Murphy. ‘Me as I am. You can want what does not exist, you can’t love it.’ This came well from Murphy. ‘Then why are you all out to change me? So that you won’t have to love me,’ the voice rising here to a note that did him credit, ‘so that you won’t be condemned to love me, so that you’ll be reprieved from loving me.’ He was anxious to make his 
meaning clear. ‘Women are all the same bloody same, you can’t love, you can’t stay the course, the only feeling you can stand is being felt, you can’t love for five minutes without wanting it abolished in brats and house bloody wifery. My God, how I hate the char Venus and her sausage and mash sex.’

Celia put a foot to the ground.

‘Avoid exhaustion by speech,’ she said.

‘Have I wanted to change you? Have I pestered you to begin things that don’t belong to you and stop things that do? How can I care what you
DO
?’

‘I am what I do,’ said Celia.

‘No,’ said Murphy. ‘You do what you are, you do a fraction of what you are, you suffer a dreary ooze of your being into doing.’ He threw his voice into an infant’s whinge. ‘“I cudden do annyting, Maaaammy.” That kind of doing. Unavoidable and tedious.’

Celia was now fully seated on the edge of the bed, her back turned to him, making fast her Ballitoes.

‘I have heard bilge,’ she said, and did not bother to finish.