A Fairly Honourable Defeat (28 page)

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Authors: Iris Murdoch

BOOK: A Fairly Honourable Defeat
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‘I’m glad you’re feeling friendly! I put the drinks out down there. What are you going to say?’
They began to walk down the stairs, Hilda walking behind with her hands on her husband’s shoulders.
‘I want to see what
he
says,’ said Rupert.
‘You think he ought to have a showdown with Morgan?’
‘Frankly, yes.’
‘Tallis is incapable of violence of any sort.’
‘It’s not a question of violence. It’s a question of responsible firmness.’
‘Morgan has seen Julius again.’
‘What’s the situation?’
‘She wouldn’t say.’
‘I think Morgan is behaving badly.’
‘So do I. You know Rupert, I sometimes think Morgan really does love Tallis still. I didn’t understand this before. But she’s terribly obsessed with him. If only the picture could change a bit, if only Tallis could
surprise
her in some way, if only she could suddenly see him in a different light—’
‘A change of
gestalt,
yes. But that’s just why I favour the showdown. ’
‘Maybe. But not like you think. Not “Look here I want to know where I stand.” ’
‘Well,
you
talk to him, Hilda. There’s the front door bell. That’ll be him.’
Hilda quickly arranged the cushions in the drawing room and checked her face in the glass as Rupert’s and Tallis’s voices were heard in the hall. The curtains had been pulled a little against the sun and the room was dim. She drew the curtains back, and revealed the quiet blazing garden and the blue pool so still now that its sleek surface gave not a flicker of light.
Tallis came in.
‘Hello, Tallis dear.’ She shook his hand and rather hesitantly kissed him.
‘Hello Hilda.’ They were always a little constrained with each other.
‘Do sit here.’
‘How lovely your garden is,’ said Tallis, sitting down.
Tallis sat in a small armchair sideways to the garden. He was wearing a dark blue jacket and trousers, rather old and spotty and mysteriously tinged with green and far too heavy for the season, and a clean blue and white striped shirt which needed but had not got a detachable collar.
Hilda and Rupert sat side by side on the sofa facing the garden. They looked at Tallis and Tallis looked out of the window. There was a moment’s silence.
‘It’s so quiet over here,’ said Tallis. ‘It’s like a visit to the country.’
‘We hear the aeroplanes more than you do,’ said Hilda.
‘I rather like the aeroplanes,’ said Tallis. ‘It’s a sort of going home sound. There’s one now.’
Hilda was about to tell him to take off his jacket when she got a hint of braces. ‘What’ll you drink, Tallis? Some sherry? A little gin and French? Gin and tonic?’
‘Yes, please. I mean, yes some sherry. Thank you.’
‘I expect you’re very busy,’ said Hilda. ‘I heard your name in connection with that new housing project in Notting Hill.’
‘Yes. It’s in an awful muddle at the moment I’m afraid.’
Hilda thought, wherever Tallis is there’s always a muddle! Then she thought, this is unjust. Wherever there is a muddle, there Tallis is.
‘Tallis, we did rather want to talk to you, to talk to you frankly,’ said Rupert. ‘Yes, thank you, dear, some gin.’
How different these two are, thought Hilda, as she saw the dear familiar puzzled obstinate look in her husband’s blue eyes. Rupert is so strong and firm, so typically masculine and so marvellously honest. He wants complete information and straight answers and unambiguous positions. He wants clarifications and rational policies. Tallis is so much more indefinite and feminine. If he wasn’t so nice one might call him sly. And he looks so small beside Rupert.
‘Yes,’ said Tallis. ‘You must be worried stiff about Peter. So am I.’
‘Oh,’ said Rupert. ‘Well, it wasn’t—Naturally we are worried. But just now it seems he may be persuaded to go back to Cambridge. ’
‘I think he should see a psychiatrist,’ said Tallis.
‘Tallis!’
cried Hilda. ‘You’ve always been so much against them!’
‘Ordinary human affection is the best healing power,’ said Rupert.
‘Except that it doesn’t always work,’ said Tallis. He was still squinting out at the sunlight in the garden.
‘Peter needs love,’ said Hilda. ‘Of course he’s a bit rebellious. All young people are nowadays.’
‘And I think he ought to stop living with me,’ said Tallis.
‘Though I’m hanged if I can think where he should go to. He needs professional help.’
‘I’m amazed at you, Tallis,’ said Rupert. ‘Most psychiatry is bunk, as you quite well know.’
‘What an admission of failure!’ said Hilda.
‘Well, I have failed,’ said Tallis. He turned back towards the room, blinked, frowned, and took an absent-minded gulp of sherry.
Hilda, feeling a bit upset and annoyed, said in her calmest tone to Rupert, ‘We must think about somewhere for Peter to live, mustn’t we, dear, if Tallis thinks he should move. After all, Tallis is very busy and he’s been most patient with Peter.’
‘Why shouldn’t Peter go and stay with Morgan?’ said Rupert.
‘That’s not a bad idea!’
‘You know, of course,’ said Rupert to Tallis, ‘that Morgan has moved out of this house.’
‘No, I didn’t know.’
How should he know, after all, thought Hilda, since nobody bothered to tell him. No one tells him anything. And serve him right, she thought the next moment.
Rupert was saying to her, ‘Yes, let Morgan take over Peter, why not?’
‘Where’s she moved to?’ said Tallis.
‘A flat in Fulham,’ said Hilda.
‘Is she living alone?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Rupert.
‘Why “of course”?’ said Tallis.
‘Do you want her address?’ said Hilda.
‘No, thank you. She’s got mine.’ Tallis was peering intently into his glass. He thrust in a little finger to rescue a struggling fly, then got up and walked across the room to a bowl of roses. He coaxed the fly off onto a leaf. Then he resumed his seat.
Hilda watched him with exasperation. ‘Oh Tallis, why don’t you try to
win
her,’ she cried. ‘Morgan just doesn’t know who she is or what she’s doing at the moment, she’s simply drifting along. Use some initiative. Use some imagination. Do something to startle her. You do still love her, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Tallis. He gave Hilda a quick glance and then lowered his eyes again. The skin seemed extra taut over the polished knobs of his brow.
‘Well, then for God’s sake
do
something about it!’
Tallis put his glass down rather abruptly on the carpet, spilled a little sherry, and remained leaning forward staring at the faint round stain. He was silent. Rupert, who had been looking impatient, raised his eyebrows to Hilda.
‘Look here, Tallis,’ began Rupert.
‘It’s not so easy,’ said Tallis. ‘She knows all about me. There’s nothing much to know and there’s nothing more to know.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Rupert. ‘All human beings are mysterious.’
‘There’s no point in my forcing myself upon her or putting on some kind of show. She’d see through it anyway. She doesn’t appear to want me. She appears to want somebody else. It’s in her nature to—’
‘People don’t have “natures” in that sense,’ said Rupert.
‘Morgan certainly hasn’t,’ said Hilda. ‘She’s terribly unstable. The one thing that’s certain is that the girl is obsessed with you. Tallis, don’t you see that you’ve got
power
over her? You could shake that girl to her foundations.’ Hilda had got up in her agitation and was standing behind the sofa.
Tallis raised his head. He said in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘I know. I know. But what on earth use would that be?
That
isn’t it.’
‘Oh Tallis—you—you
ninny!
’
He smiled faintly. His face now had the relaxed luminous look which Hilda had sometimes noticed when he was most serious. Faintly comical, she thought, but rather moving. What ridiculous gingery eyebrows and such a short and
shiny
nose and such a little mouth. But the eyes, yes, the eyes.
‘I assure you,’ said Tallis, ‘I am fully aware of the situation and I am not enjoying it. When I see what to do I’ll do it.’
‘Listen, Tallis,’ said Rupert. ‘I hope you will forgive me if I am slightly critical. We are all worried about Morgan. She’s in an absurd state of mind and as Hilda says she’s drifting. As her sister and brother-in-law we have a responsibility. But you have a much more direct and obvious responsibility. You are her husband. In a more primitive society it would have been your duty to fetch her back to your house by force if necessary. It should be possible to find some enlightened equivalent for this. At any rate you should try. I know how intensely scrupulous you are about forcing her in any way. But if I may say so, I think you should ask yourself whether this scrupulosity does not originate in pride. You have been deeply hurt: and very reticent behaviour can be a kind of revenge. You are preserving your dignity by refusing to show your feelings. But there are moments when love ought to be undignified, extravagant, even violent. For make no mistake about it, only love can really alter this situation and really heal these dreadful wounds. Both you and Morgan are wounded people. She is the more wounded because she is the more guilty, and for that reason she is probably the more proud. So it is all the more important for you to be brave and positive. In a situation like this one, genuine humility is active and takes risks. Don’t let two prides paralyse two loves. Show her how much you care, not abjectly but ardently. True love is something impressive, something beautiful. Morgan has been living in a sordid and wretched world, a world of prevarication and muddle and shabby thinking. She needs the vision of a life of trust and truth and mutual devotion. You must use authority. The authority of a husband. The authority of a
loving
husband.’
Tallis was leaning back in his chair and listening intently, his eyes very wide open and his small mouth pursed. He said thoughtfully, ‘Authority.’ Then he said in a reasoning and unemotional voice, ‘But suppose she loves Julius King?’
‘She doesn’t!’ cried Hilda. ‘
She doesn’t!
’
‘I agree with Hilda,’ said Rupert. ‘But you can only try. And you ought at least to try.’
Tallis rose to his feet. ‘I love Peter. Fat lot of good that’s done,’ he said in a ruminative tone.
‘Oh Tallis, you drive me mad!’ cried Hilda.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Tallis. He smiled again. ‘I am grateful to you for talking to me, both of you. I assure you I will think very carefully about what you’ve said. And now I think I must be off. Rupert, could I just ask you one question?’
‘Yes, certainly. What?’
‘Why is stealing wrong?’
Rupert, who had not had a philosophical training for nothing, was never startled by any question, however bizarre, and was ready at once to give it his undivided attention. He reflected now for a while, staring at Tallis. Then he said ‘Of course the concept of stealing is linked to the concept of property. Where there are no property rights there is no wrongful appropriation of the goods of another. In completely primitive situations where there is no society—if any such situations exist or existed—it could be argued that there are no property rights and so no stealing. Also in certain kinds of community, such as a monastery or conceivably a family, there could be mutual voluntary renunciations of property rights, so that within the community stealing would not exist by definition. Though even in these two cases what a man customarily uses such as his clothes or his tools might be thought of as natural property and
ergo
as deserving of respect. Indeed one might argue that it could never be right under any circumstances, to remove a man’s toothbrush against his will. However, in state and society as we know it, there is no prospect of any universal voluntary surrender of the concept of property, and extremely complicated property rights, extending far beyond the area of clothes and tools, appear to exist and are upheld by law. Doubtless many of these complex arrangements can be argued to be economically and politically necessary to the well-being and continuance of the state, and in a healthy open society the details of these arrangements are properly a matter for continual discussion and adjustment in the light of both expediency and morality. Acceptance of any society, and even a bad society gives its members many benefits, does seem to suggest a certain duty to respect property. In a bad undemocratic society there might of course exist specialized duties to disregard particular alleged property rights, or even to break the law as a matter of protest, though it should be kept in mind that there are always
prima facie
utilitarian arguments against stealing, in so far as people may be distressed by the removal of their goods. But in a democratic society stealing is surely wrong not only for utilitarian reasons but because property is an important part of a structure generally agreed to be good and whose alteration in detail can be freely sought.’

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