The Good Apprentice (49 page)

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Authors: Iris Murdoch

BOOK: The Good Apprentice
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He ceased to run and walked on for a few paces. The path had ceased at the bridge and the long grass impeded him and he stopped. Then he turned and came back. His mouth was open and his breath came in little anxious whining sounds. He stood again over the place and looked into the river, looked down into the water which had resumed its brown glassy transparency. There was nothing there. He sat and slid down the bank, digging his heels into the muddy edge, and balanced with the water over his knees. He looked again and made sweeps in the water with his hands. Then he edged along the bank, dabbing here and there with his feet, slipping into the stream almost to his waist. He climbed up the bank and ran and scrambled along the side of the river in the direction of the current for some way, looking among the reeds and the long streamers of cressy plants which wavered in the flowing water. Then he gave up and set off walking as fast as he could across the grass in the direction of the track.
When he reached the road he was still panting with fear and shock. He thought, this is awful, it’s
hideous
. Will I go on being like this, am I
breaking up
? And he thought, no,
they
aren’t poisoning me. It’s my own doing. It’s that awful drug I used to take, it’ll never go away, never. What a horrible vission. I’m coming to pieces.
This
is what I’ve come to, this is where I’m being
driven.
And I thought I was recovering, I thought I was getting off. But of course, the punishment is automatic. And he thought, what can Brownie do against this? I mustn’t tell her, she’s got enough of my troubles, she’s had enough of me, she’ll be horrified by me, I’ll disgust her. Oh Brownie, poor poor Brownie. When he reached the cottage she was waiting for him, standing at the door.
 
‘Edward, what’s the matter, are you ill?’
‘No, yes, I think I’ve got malaria.’
‘
Malaria?
’
‘Yes, there are malaria mosquitoes in the fen.’
‘You’re all wet and muddy.’
‘I walked into a pool, perfectly silly. I thought I might be late.’
‘Sit down here. Can I give you something? Coffee, sherry?’
‘No, I’ll be all right — in a minute.’ He sat down in a low chair. He felt giddy and a cloud of blackness hovered over him, just above his brow. He said, ‘I mustn’t bother you, Brownie. I don’t want to be in the way. You must do your packing.’
‘I’ve done it. It’s only a few minutes to the bus. Do have a drink. I’m going to have one.’
‘All right, sherry.’ The sherry, dark and rather sweet, tasted wonderful, like some drink rushed specially from heaven. He felt a little better. ‘I feel all right now. Of course it isn’t malaria, I just had a touch of ’flu, I’m over it really.’
‘You’re shivering. I’ll light the paraffin stove. There.’
‘Oh Brownie, Brownie — ’
They looked at each other.
In the darker scene of the cottage room, where everything seemed to be stained by woodsmoke or wear or age, Brownie looked older and shabbier, her hair less bright, her face somehow disorganised by tiredness or sadness. She was wearing a navy blue skirt and a brown jersey from the top of which a blue blouse confusedly obtruded. Her pale face seemed awkwardly large and naked, undefended by make-up or pretty hair or charm. She stood heavily, her feet apart, her hands clasped in front of her, staring down at Edward.
As she still stood, Edward made an effort to get up.
‘No, no, sit. Shall I light the wood fire?’
‘No, please not — ’
‘I didn’t light it last night. It’s a bit cold this morning. And the cottage is getting damp already.’ She pulled an upright chair forward and sat on it, towering over Edward who felt uncomfortable and weak in his lower chair with its sunken seat and wooden arms. His long legs were uncomfortably stretched out, and his trousers steaming a little from the heat of the stove, which Brownie had placed close to him. He wanted to get up and find a higher chair, but did not dare to do this or to ask for more sherry.
‘Thank you for seeing me — ’
‘Not at all — ’
‘You said you wanted to ask me something else.’
‘Yes, two things actually — you must forgive my sort of probing — I feel I must get it all
clear
while I’m still able to see you.’
‘Yes — of course — ’ It sounded to Edward as if … sometime very soon … their meetings would have come to an end forever.
‘It may sound crazy to ask this — but — well — look, did you tell me the truth last time, about your giving him the drug without his knowing?’
‘Yes! My God, if you don’t believe me I’m lost!’
‘Yes, yes, I know, I’ve just got to get another idea right out of my head. He didn’t ask for it?’
‘No!’
‘But still he might have — for some reason — wanted to walk out of the window anyway.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Edward. He was feeling sick again, black, with an unbearable wretchedness closing upon him.
‘I mean, you’re sure it wasn’t suicide?’
‘Suicide?
No! Of course not!’
‘He wasn’t desperate, nothing awful had happened to him, like losing his girl, or — ’
‘No!’
‘He was, so far as you know, perfectly happy and OK?’
‘Yes. He was very well, he was perfectly happy, everything was splendid with him. Oh God, I’m sorry — ’
Brownie sighed. She was staring at the bright flickering window of the stove and had lifted a corner of her skirt which she was unconsciously kneading. ‘Ah — all right — the other thing — excuse my asking, but did you have a homosexual relation with Mark?’
The question hurt Edward in a deep obscure way. It seemed to him for the first time that this was something which might have happened in that long future which he had, together with Mark, destroyed. ‘No, I didn’t. I loved him. But not like that.’
‘And he loved you.’
‘Yes. I think so. I’m sure.’
‘But not like that.’
‘No.’ Can I be certain? thought Edward. God, how this hurt, this unexpected opening up of things that might have been, further torture chambers and caverns of pain.
‘You see,’ said Brownie, in her cool sad voice, ‘lots of people have said lots of things, and someone suggested to me that you did have a homosexual relation and that you pushed him out of the window after a jealous quarrel.’
Edward cried out. He did now manage to get up out of his chair and stand before her.
‘No! It’s not true
. How
could
it be true? Oh Christ! Who said that?’
‘Nobody you know. Just someone who was speculating or guessing. It all
interested
everyone so much. A terrible complicated disaster excites people.’
‘You don’t think that, what you said?’
‘No, I don’t. I really don’t, and I didn’t. I just had to say it to get rid of it. It’s gone now.’
‘It’s gone from you to me. I’ll never stop thinking that people say that.’ Edward instantly regretted these words. If there were a terrible thought, should he not take the burden of it, and be glad to take a pain away from her into himself? And did what he had just said mean that he cared more about his reputation than about Mark’s death? He said, ‘Oh hell, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry you had to hear such horrible — guesses and speculations — ’ He walked to the window and back, wanting to cry out and tear his hair.
Brownie, hunched and big on her chair, frowning slightly, watched him. She crossed her legs and pulled her skirt down and sighed. ‘So that’s all — and I believe everything you say.’
‘Well, that could scarcely be worse, the truth I mean. I deceived him and abandoned him, so I murdered him.’
‘Don’t talk like that please. Don’t you see that it helps me if I can — can understand you and sympathise — ’
‘You mean if you can forgive me.’
‘Yes, if you like to put it so.’
‘Well, do you?’
‘Yes.’ She said it in a dull sad way.
Yet, he thought, how else could she say it? She gave him so much, was he to cry and complain because it was not more? She did not look like Mark today. Perhaps she was looking like her mother. He said, ‘You are the just judge. Thank you — well — and so — I am finished with and can be sent away. What about your mother? You said I might be able to help her.’
‘She goes on hating you.’
‘Someone told me that hatred kills. Perhaps her hatred will kill me. Perhaps that might be the best thing, a kind of justice.’
‘That’s a rotten thing to say. Hatred kills the hater. My poor mother is almost mad with it.’
‘So that’s another of m
y
crimes.’
‘The consequences of anything can go on and on.’
‘What can I do about it?’
‘Nothing. I thought somehow you could help her but I don’t see how. Let us say it doesn’t have to concern you.’
He suddenly felt
she
hates me,
Brownie
hates me. But it can’t be,
that
would kill. He said, ‘Suppose I were to see her, or write to her?’
‘No, I’ll tell her some things you said — anything that’s necessary — ’
‘So there’s nothing more I can do for you?’
‘No. You’ve been very patient.’
‘Patient! God!’
Brownie got up and started rubbing her face with her hands, smoothing them over her prominent white brow, and tucking her listless hair in behind her ears. She yawned.
Edward stood back. His trousers were still wet, now hot and wet. Brownie turned off the paraffin heater. They moved toward the door. There was a pause. Brownie adjusted the collar of her blouse. Edward realised he had not, throughout their conversation, now over, really
looked
at her. They looked at each other for a second, then looked away. She said, ‘Well goodbye, and thanks.’
‘Edward desperately tried to think of some way to continue the conversation, but could not. He felt a soft wet patch against his side, investigated his jacket pocket, and drew forth the remains of his hasty jam sandwich, now squashed into a red limp mess.
‘What’s that?’ said Brownie.
‘A jam sandwich. I forgot all about it. I must have crushed it against the chair. I put it — I hadn’t time for breakfast — ’
They might have laughed only they did not. Brownie smiled wanly.
‘Can I throw it away somewhere?’ He stood holding it out.
‘I’ll take it.’ Brownie took it from him and threw it with some force into the wood ash in the fireplace. She rubbed her hand on her skirt.
Edward felt near to tears. The black miserable fear was about to overwhelm him.
‘Shall I make you some sandwiches? Oh, I can’t — I’ve thrown all the food away.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll have my lunch at — over there — ’
‘Goodbye then. Thanks for coming.’
They paused another instant and looked at each other again. Then each took a little step forward and, responding to the swift mysterious mechanism which so imperiously draws one human body to another, were clasped in each other’s arms. They held together thus, strongly, violently, as if each would drive right through the other, their eyes closed, her head in his shoulder, his face buried in her hair, for some time. Then they struggled apart and Edward clumsily kissed her cheek, then quickly her lips, and they drew away.
Brownie looked quite different now. She was blushing and her face, alert, assembled, had a gentle almost apologetic look and she made a sweeping gesture with her hand suggestive of a bow. She looked hurt, touched, younger, almost timid. Edward felt a corresponding look on his own face. He felt like a subject who, after surprising his prince, wants only to kneel. Indeed he wanted to kneel and kiss the hem of her skirt.
Brownie turned away and said very softly as she turned, ‘Don’t go yet.’ She went and sat down upon a faded reddish sofa under the window, overhung by dried grasses, and Edward came and sat beside her. He took her hand and, bowing his head over it, moved her knuckles to and fro upon his brow. He felt overwhelmed, split in two, by sudden physical desire and by an intense weepy humility. He drew his hair over her hand and hardly dared to look up.
She said, ‘I don’t have to catch that bus.’
He said, ‘Oh Brownie, help me, love me. I love you.’
‘I love you too, I think.’
Edward raised his head and looked into her dark brown eyes, darker than his own, which were so bright and gentle and truthful. He lifted a hand and put his finger lightly upon her cheek, he touched her mouth. He said, ‘You pity me. You are consumed with wonderful miraculous pity for me. I am intensely grateful. I kiss your feet.’
He moved as if about to do so, but she held him. ‘Edward — isn’t it strange — we are the only ones who can help each other.’
‘My God, you are so kind — so — so gracious, so precious-I can’t find the words — like a great queen — you’ve got the one thing needful — like a magic jewel — ’

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