The Magus, A Revised Version (37 page)

On Tuesday and Wednesday prep duties kept me at the school. On Thursday I went over to Bourani again. Nothing had changed. It was as deserted as it had been on the Monday.

I walked round the house, tried the shutters, roamed the grounds, went down to the private beach, from which the boat was gone. Then I sat brooding for half an hour in the twilight under the colonnade. I felt both exploited and excluded, and as much angry with myself as with them. I was mad to have got involved in the whole business, and even madder both to want it to go on and be frightened of its going on. I had changed my mind once again in those intervening days. More and more I no longer knew about the schizophrenia; from faintly possible it began to grow probable. I could not imagine why else he should have halted the masque so abruptly. If it had been only an amusement…

I suppose there was a large component of envy too
– I
thought of Conchis
’
s foolishness, or arrogance, in leaving the Modigliani and the Bonnards like that, in a deserted house … and from those Bonnards, my mind grasshoppered to Alison. There was that day a special midnight boat to take the boys and masters back to Athens for their half-term holiday. It meant sitting up all night dozing in an armchair in the scruffy first-class saloon, but it gave one the Friday in Athens. I
’
m not quite sure what it was
–
anger, spite, revenge? -that made me decide to take the boat. It was certainly not the thought of Alison, beyond a need of someone to talk to. Perhaps it was a last whiff of my old would-be existentialist self: founding freedom on caprice.

A minute later I was walking fast down the track to the gate. Even then, at the last moment I looked back and hoped, with one-thousandth of a hope, that someone might be beckoning me to return.

But no one was. So I embarked for my lack of a better.

³⁸

Athens was dust and drought, ochre and drab. Even the palm trees looked exhausted. All the humanity in human beings had retreated behind dark skins and even darker glasses, and by two in the afternoon the streets were empty, abandoned to indolence and heat. I lay slumped on a bed in a Piraeus hotel, and dozed fitfully in the shuttered twilight. The city was doubly too much for me. After Bourani, the descent back into the age, the machinery, the stress, was completely disorientating.

The afternoon dragged out its listless hours. The closer I came to meeting Alison, the more muddle-motived I grew. I knew that if I was in Athens at all, it was out of a desire to play my own double game with Conchis. Twenty-four hours before, under the colonnade, Alison had seemed a pawn to be used
–
at least one counter-move I could make; but now, two hours before meeting … sex with her was unthinkable. So too, so close, was to tell her what was happening at Bourani. I no longer knew why I had come. I felt strongly tempted to sneak away back to the island. I wanted neither to deceive Alison nor to reveal the truth.

Yet something kept me lying there, some remnant of interest in hearing what had become of her, some pity, some memory of past affection. I saw it as a kind of test, as well: of both my depth of feeling about Julie and my doubts. Alison could stand for past and present reality in the outer world, and I would put her secretly in the ring with my inner adventure. Also I had hit, during the long night on the boat, on a way of keeping the meeting safely antiseptic-something that would make her feel sorry for me
and
keep her at arm
’
s length.

At five I got up, had a shower, and caught a taxi out to the airport. I sat on a bench opposite the long reception counter, then moved away; finding, to my irritation, that I was increasingly nervous. Several other air hostesses passed quickly
–
hard, trim, professionally pretty, the shallow unreality of characters from science fiction.

Six came, six-fifteen. I goaded myself to walk up to the counter.

There was a Greek girl there in the right uniform, with flashing white teeth and dark-brown eyes whose innuendoes seemed put on with the rest of her lavish make-up.

‘
I
’
m supposed to be meeting one of your girls. Alison Kelly.
’

‘
Allie? Her flight
’
s in. She
’
ll be changing.
’
She picked up a telephone, dialled a number, gleamed her teeth at me. Her accent was impeccable; and American.
‘
Allie? Your date
’
s here. If you don
’
t come right away he
’
s taking me instead.
’
She held out the receiver.
‘
She wants to speak to you.
’

‘
Tell her I
’
ll wait. Not to hurry.
’

‘
He
’
s shy.
’
Alison must have said something, because the girl smiled. She put the phone down.

‘
She
’
ll be right over.
’

‘
What did she say then?
’

‘
She said you
’
re not shy, it
’
s just your technique.
’

‘
Oh.
’

She gave me what was meant to be a coolly audacious look between her long black eyelashes, then turned to deal with two women who had mercifully appeared at the other end of the counter. I escaped and went and stood near the entrance. When I had first lived on the island, Athens, the city life, had seemed like a normalizing influence, as desirable as it was still familiar. Now I realized that it began to frighten me, that I loathed it; the slick exchange at the desk, its blatant implications of contracepted excitement, the next stereotyped thrill. I came from another planet.

A minute or two later Alison appeared through the door. Her hair was short, too short, she was wearing a white dress, and immediately we were on the wrong foot, because I knew she had worn it to remind me of our first meeting. Her skin was paler than I remembered. She took
off
her dark glasses when she saw me and I could see she was tired, her most bruised. Pretty enough body, pretty enough clothes, a good walk, the same old wounded face and truth-seeking eyes. Alison might launch ten ships in me; but Julie launched a thousand. She came and stood and we gave each other a little smile.

‘
Hi.
’

‘
Hallo, Alison.
’

‘
Sorry. Late as usual.
’

She spoke as if we had last met the week before. But it didn
’
t
work. The nine months stood like a sieve between us, through which words came, but none of the emotions.

‘
Shall we go?
’

I took the airline bag she was carrying and led her out to a taxi. Inside we sat in opposite corners and looked at each other again. She smiled.

‘
I thought you wouldn
’
t come.
’

‘
I didn
’
t know where to send my refusal.
’

‘
I was cunning.
’

She glanced out of the window, waved to a man in uniform. She seemed older to me, over-experienced by travel; needing to be learnt again, and I hadn
’
t the energy.

‘
I
’
ve got you a room overlooking the port.
’

‘
Fine.
’

‘
They
’
re so bloody stuffy in Greek hotels. You know.
’

‘
Toujours
the done thing.
’
She gave me a tweak of irony from her grey eyes, then covered up.
‘
It
’
s fun.
Vive
the done thing.
’
I nearly made my prepared speech, but it annoyed me that she assumed I hadn
’
t changed, was still slave to English convention; it even annoyed me that she felt she had to cover up. She held out her hand and I took it and we pressed fingers. Then she reached out and took
off
my dark glasses.

‘
You look devastatingly handsome now. Do you know that? You
’
re so brown. Dried in the sun, sort of beginning to be ravaged. Jesus, when you
’
re forty.
’

I smiled, but I looked down and let go of her hand to get a cigarette. I knew what her flattery meant; the invitation extended.

‘
Alison, I
’
m in a sort of weird situation.
’

It knocked all the false lightness out of her. She stared straight ahead.

‘
Another girl?
’

‘
No.
’
She flashed a look at me.
‘
I
’
ve changed, I don
’
t know how one begins to explain things.
’

‘
But you wish to God I
’
d kept away.
’

‘
No, I
’
m … glad you
’
ve come.
’
She glanced at me suspiciously again.
‘
Really.
’

She was silent for a few moments. We moved out on to the coast road.

‘
I
’
m through with Pete.
’

‘
You said.
’

‘
I forgot.
’
But I knew she hadn
’
t.

‘
And I
’
ve been through with everyone else since I
’
ve been through with him.
’
She kept staring out of the window.
‘
Sorry. I ought to have started with the small talk.
’

‘
No. I mean … you know.
’

She slid another look at me; hurt and trying not to be hurt. She made an effort.
‘
I
’
m living with Ann again. Only since last week. Back in the old flat. Maggie
’
s gone home.
’

‘
I liked Ann.
’

‘
Yes, she
’
s nice.
’

There was a long silence as we drove down past Phaleron. She stared out of the window and after a minute reached into her white handbag and took out her dark glasses. I knew why, I could see the lines of wet light round her eyes. I didn
’
t touch her, take her hand, but I talked about the difference between the Piraeus and Athens, how the former was more picturesque, more Greek, and I thought she
’
d like it better. I had really chosen the Piraeus because of the small, but horrifying, possibility of running into Conchis and Julie. The thought of
her
cool, amused and probably contemptuous eyes if such a thing happened sent shivers down my spine. There was something about Alison
’
s manner and appearance; if a man was with her, he went to bed with her. And as I talked, I wondered how we were going to survive the next three days.

I tipped the boy and he left the room. She went to the window and looked down across the broad white quay, the slow crowds of evening strollers, the busy port. I stood behind her. After a moment
’
s swift calculation I put my arm round her and at once she leant against me.

‘
I hate cities. I hate aeroplanes. I want to live in a cottage in Ireland.
’

“
Why Ireland?
’

‘
Somewhere I
’
ve never been.
’

I could feel the warmth, the willingness to surrender, of her body. At any moment she would turn her face and I would have to kiss her.

‘
Alison, I… don
’
t quite know how to break the news.
’
I took my
arm away, and stood closer to the window, so that she could not see my face.
‘
I caught a disease two or three months ago. Well… syphilis.
’
I turned and she gave me a look
–
concern and shock and incredulity.
‘
I
’
m all right now, but… you know, I can
’
t possibly