The Good Apprentice (28 page)
Read The Good Apprentice Online
Authors: Iris Murdoch
‘Harry, you do love me, don’t you, you will love me always, it’s not just an adventure — ?’
‘Christ, if I haven’t convinced you of that — ! I want you to be my wife, I want to be your husband, I want to be Meredith’s father, I’ll love you and cherish you both forever and ever — ’
‘Thomas used to say you just wanted to destroy yourself — ’
‘Don’t quote Thomas at me!
He
is the destroyer, find out your life-myth and I’ll destroy it for you, that’s his motto!’
He
is the destroyer, find out your life-myth and I’ll destroy it for you, that’s his motto!’
‘Yes. Thomas could be a danger to us.’
‘No, no, it’s a charade. I remember Thomas saying his favourite literary heroes were Achilles and Mr Knightly! He may imagine he’s Achilles, but really he’s just a feeble version of Mr Knightly. A gentleman of course. That should stop you worrying!
I’m
Achilles!’
I’m
Achilles!’
‘“Said Tweed to Till — ”’
‘What?’
‘That thing about the two rivers that Thomas used to recite. “Said Tweed to Till, ’What makes you run so still?‘ Said Till to Tweed, ’Though you run with speed, and I run slow, for each man you kill, I kill two.””
‘I remember, Thomas imagined he was Till, I suppose. But he’s not. Now stop arguing. Come on!’
Midge got up reassembling her robe. ‘I’m just going to the bathroom.’
Harry was unloosening his belt. The window curtains were blowing gently. He thought, I love her, she loves me, yet we’re in hell. It’s so unjust. We’re in a machine, it’s mechanical, it’s evil. Yet outside, beyond, there’s freedom, there’s happiness, there’s goodness. He felt wearied out with the strain of her argument and with his love-longing which had so much sadness in it. He saw again the empty boat receding, sailing away on its own.
Midge emerged from the room and walked across the landing toward the bathroom. She stopped.
There was something at the top of the stairs, a standing figure. It was Meredith, motionless, erect, stiff as a soldier, his eyes wide, his lips apart.
Harry’s voice came clearly from the bedroom through the open door. ‘Hurry up, darling, I can’t wait!’
Midge, her face blazing, stared at her son. Then she lifted one finger and put it to her lips.
Bettina had mended the tractor, and now the car, an old Humber, had come out of its garage and was actually sitting on the pavement outside the house, crushing the cushions of sweet-smelling thyme under its wheels. The early afternoon sun was shining. Jesse had not come home.
Today was a special day, Edward had been told. Not a festival day, but the day in the month when Mother May and Bettina went to the town (by bus in winter, by car in summer) to buy the few household necessaries which they could not provide themselves. Usually, as he understood, Ilona went too, but today she was to stay to keep him company. To keep an eye on him? What did they imagine he might get up to? The question of taking Edward to the town had not been raised. Did they think he’d run away?
The pair left behind had plenty to occupy them. Edward was to weed the vegetable garden, then saw wood, then if there was time begin painting the outside of the greenhouses. Ilona was to ‘clean out’ Transition, after which there was a pile of mending waiting for her in the Interfec.
‘Don’t forget my new toothbrush,’ said Ilona, ‘I want a blue one.’
‘Right-oh. Come on, Mother May, get in.’
‘Be good, you two children,’ called Mother May, climbing in. ‘Look, look,’ cried Ilona, as the car began to move, ‘a swallow!’
The Humber turned laboriously and set off down the track. Edward and Ilona waved, then turned back toward the house. Edward had a strange free yet uneasy feeling which he wondered if Ilona shared. They stood awkwardly at the door for a moment. Then Edward said, ‘Well, I suppose I must get on with that weeding.’ He had not told anyone of his girl-apparition of the previous day.
Ilona went inside without saying anything and Edward found a hoe in one of the sheds behind the ilex trees and went on to the vegetable garden where he started to make weak spiritless pokes at the weeds which were now growing lustily between the wispy rows of carrots and onions. He was conscious of a strong physical feeling of anxiety about the length of his stay at Seegard. Was not being here with these women beginning to have something ridiculous about it, like having too prolonged a holiday? In spite of his acute anxiety about his father he did feel rather ‘at home’; yet not as one being healed, taking it more as an interval which put off what it professed to effect. The Seegard magic was sedative, making him forget Mark’s death, unhappen it. This place, these sisters, this mother, were all a dreamwork he would have to undo. Time itself was becoming a burden, a kind of continuous moral pain. But of course he was waiting for Jesse, that was the point, and before Jesse came there could be no question of his leaving. But did not this unexplained absence indicate an indifference to Edward on Jesse’s part, for surely he must know that Edward had arrived? There were so many possible unpleasant explanations — the mistress in the South of France, the alternative menage, some addiction, gambling or drink. Or perhaps Jesse was in prison somewhere, there was some disgraceful secret. Edward paused; the sun was warm, and even his idle scrapings had made the perspiration run quietly down his temples and onto his cheeks. He smeared the sweat off with his hand, and surveyed the grove of poplar trees, now lightly covered with trembling young leaves the colour of
vin rosé.
Then he saw, beyond some bushes, the flicker of a brown dress. It was Ilona, who had just disappeared along the path which led to the river. So Ilona was playing truant; and there could be no doubt where she was going. Edward dropped his hoe and ran to a point, near the old tennis court, where he could see along the path. Ilona was hurrying, almost out of sight. He did not call out, nor was he tempted to follow her. He feared to disturb her, and to disturb in himself the vivid memory of her dance in the sacred place.
vin rosé.
Then he saw, beyond some bushes, the flicker of a brown dress. It was Ilona, who had just disappeared along the path which led to the river. So Ilona was playing truant; and there could be no doubt where she was going. Edward dropped his hoe and ran to a point, near the old tennis court, where he could see along the path. Ilona was hurrying, almost out of sight. He did not call out, nor was he tempted to follow her. He feared to disturb her, and to disturb in himself the vivid memory of her dance in the sacred place.
He now stood still for a while, thinking about the girl he had seen in the fen. Would he see her again? Should he go out to the same place to see if she were there? Who was she? No doubt she was some random tripper, people would be on holidays already. What was odd was that in all the time he had been at Seegard he had seen no one else, not even the tree men. Then he was struck by an even stronger emotion, a realisation which brought the blood to his cheeks in an almost guilty rush: it was that for the first time since his arrival there he was
alone at Seegard
!
alone at Seegard
!
Edward turned promptly and began to walk back toward the house. He was not sure what he wanted to do, but he was sure that he very much wanted to profit by this remarkable piece of liberty to do something
illicit,
to
find out
something that was hidden. He thought, I’ll go to the Interfectory and try to find a map. They said there was no map of the area but I bet there is. Entering the Atrium Edward paused for a moment and listened. Of course there was nothing to hear, but he felt a shudder which seemed to come from the house itself enter his body. He took off his wellingtons and put on indoor shoes and padded across the slate floor in the direction of the Interfec. He opened the door cautiously and entered the silent room.
I am here. Do not forget me.
He tiptoed across and opened the door of Bettina’s workroom. He had never actually entered this room, though he had been as far as the doorway to receive Bettina’s instructions or be given things to carry. He admired the big wooden work-table, much bigger than Ilona’s, and the wooden boards upon the walls, looking like modern works of art, which supported sets of tools upon hooks. Another art exhibit was a large old dresser bearing rows of pots of paint of different colours, from which Edward that very morning had been given some white paint for the greenhouse. The windows were, by Seegard standards, remarkably clean and devoid of spiders. He sped across the room and opened the next door. The next room was darker because of the numerous cobwebs upon the window. It was empty except for a large loom. So here the stuff was woven from which the famous dresses were made! Edward knew nothing about looms. He approached it and tried to move a piece of the machinery, to tilt it up, then slide it along, but it would not budge, it appeared to be jammed. Then he became aware of the soft feel of thick dust, and of long trails left upon the wood by his questing fingers. He stepped quickly back and ineffectually dabbed with his fingertips to hide the marks, then rubbed his hands on his trousers. The loom was rigid and very dusty, it had clearly not been in use for a long time. Yet the women always spoke as if they still used it. And those dresses — he had already noticed how much they were darned and mended — their beautiful woven dresses were
old.
Edward hastily retreated, closing the doors carefully behind him, and fled back to the Interfectory.
illicit,
to
find out
something that was hidden. He thought, I’ll go to the Interfectory and try to find a map. They said there was no map of the area but I bet there is. Entering the Atrium Edward paused for a moment and listened. Of course there was nothing to hear, but he felt a shudder which seemed to come from the house itself enter his body. He took off his wellingtons and put on indoor shoes and padded across the slate floor in the direction of the Interfec. He opened the door cautiously and entered the silent room.
I am here. Do not forget me.
He tiptoed across and opened the door of Bettina’s workroom. He had never actually entered this room, though he had been as far as the doorway to receive Bettina’s instructions or be given things to carry. He admired the big wooden work-table, much bigger than Ilona’s, and the wooden boards upon the walls, looking like modern works of art, which supported sets of tools upon hooks. Another art exhibit was a large old dresser bearing rows of pots of paint of different colours, from which Edward that very morning had been given some white paint for the greenhouse. The windows were, by Seegard standards, remarkably clean and devoid of spiders. He sped across the room and opened the next door. The next room was darker because of the numerous cobwebs upon the window. It was empty except for a large loom. So here the stuff was woven from which the famous dresses were made! Edward knew nothing about looms. He approached it and tried to move a piece of the machinery, to tilt it up, then slide it along, but it would not budge, it appeared to be jammed. Then he became aware of the soft feel of thick dust, and of long trails left upon the wood by his questing fingers. He stepped quickly back and ineffectually dabbed with his fingertips to hide the marks, then rubbed his hands on his trousers. The loom was rigid and very dusty, it had clearly not been in use for a long time. Yet the women always spoke as if they still used it. And those dresses — he had already noticed how much they were darned and mended — their beautiful woven dresses were
old.
Edward hastily retreated, closing the doors carefully behind him, and fled back to the Interfectory.
Here again was the creepy accusing silence, in which Edward stood still a while, moving only his eyes. Then he began to open the various drawers, looking for something or other, oh yes a map of the region, and here indeed, well buried, there was one, an old one evidently as it showed the railway but not the motorway. He hid it again for future use and began to look about for other treasures. He took down the photo of Jesse which looked so uncannily like himself and studied it for a while. The aquiline nose, the straight lock of dark hair, the shape, even the expression of the thin face — only the eyes were different, Edward’s being long and narrow, Jesse’s larger and more, even surprisingly, round. Of course he won’t look like that
now,
Edward thought. The young Jesse looked at him mockingly — perhaps saying ‘Yes, young fellow, you were conceived last night. What a night it was! You’ll be lucky if
you
ever have such a night!’ Edward replaced the picture. Then he looked at the door which led into the tower. He had not, since the first day, worried about the tower. The women were clearly determined, doubtless on Jesse’s orders, not to let him in. For all Edward knew, perhaps
they
were not allowed in! Edward felt increasingly sure that Jesse did not want Edward to see the tower until he, its master, came back. But now. Edward listened again, then tried the door. It was locked. Well, locked doors have keys, and where do keys live? In pockets, in handbags, in drawers, on hooks, on shelves, swinging from someone’s waist — they had to be somewhere, somewhere perhaps near to the door they opened. Edward tried the drawers again, wriggling his hand in with outstretched fingers, but no key. He stood on a chair and tried the ample ledge above the door, dislodging a stack of dust. He looked about. The big dark oak chimney-piece seemed replete with hiding places. He reached up and thrust his hand in behind the carved message
I am here
. And here indeed there was a key. Shuddering with excitement he went to the door and, with some difficulty since his hand was trembling so, inserted the key in the lock. It entered smoothly. He turned it. The door opened.
now,
Edward thought. The young Jesse looked at him mockingly — perhaps saying ‘Yes, young fellow, you were conceived last night. What a night it was! You’ll be lucky if
you
ever have such a night!’ Edward replaced the picture. Then he looked at the door which led into the tower. He had not, since the first day, worried about the tower. The women were clearly determined, doubtless on Jesse’s orders, not to let him in. For all Edward knew, perhaps
they
were not allowed in! Edward felt increasingly sure that Jesse did not want Edward to see the tower until he, its master, came back. But now. Edward listened again, then tried the door. It was locked. Well, locked doors have keys, and where do keys live? In pockets, in handbags, in drawers, on hooks, on shelves, swinging from someone’s waist — they had to be somewhere, somewhere perhaps near to the door they opened. Edward tried the drawers again, wriggling his hand in with outstretched fingers, but no key. He stood on a chair and tried the ample ledge above the door, dislodging a stack of dust. He looked about. The big dark oak chimney-piece seemed replete with hiding places. He reached up and thrust his hand in behind the carved message
I am here
. And here indeed there was a key. Shuddering with excitement he went to the door and, with some difficulty since his hand was trembling so, inserted the key in the lock. It entered smoothly. He turned it. The door opened.
Edward felt almost faint with guilt and anxiety. He ran to look into the Atrium to be sure there was nobody thère. He ran back. He hesitated on the threshold. Suppose Mother May and Bettina were to come back early? Suppose Ilona found him? But Ilona wouldn’t tell. Anyway here he was, over the threshold,
in
the tower, standing in the big hexagonal lowest room. He wondered what to do about the door, whether to take the key with him. He dared not shut it. He decided to leave the key in the keyhole and prop the door open with a rush-bottomed stool which was to hand. The idea of being
trapped inside
was vaguely and alarmingly present. The unpartitioned space of the ground floor was clearly an art gallery, the ‘exhibition room’ Ilona had mentioned. But what immediately caught his attention was the unusual up-and-down design of the ceiling intended, as he soon realised, to accommodate windows at different levels, rising here and there in shafts and boxes to allow light in from above, and also descending presumably to accommodate windows which lighted the superior floor. Edward recalled the irregular apparently random spacing of the windows seen from outside. The ‘cubist’ or ‘coffered’ effect, painted grey blue and red, was startling and pleasant. The walls were white, the wooden floor painted grey. The place echoed, and though he walked cautiously, his footsteps made an uncomfortable noise. The room felt desolate and rather damp and the exhibits, to which he now attended, dusty and un-looked-at. There were some smallish pieces of sculpture in wood and stone, a few in bronze, which seemed to Edward’s untutored eye rather old-fashioned. Some of the female nudes might once have been thought daring, there were also entwined pairs, some human, some human and animal, including a quite interesting Leda and swan in a roundel; but if these were the erotica mentioned by Ilona, they were certainly not likely to astonish anyone now. The pictures were more rewarding. Edward inspected the abstracts, fiercely painted in the yellowest yellow and the blackest black he had ever seen, with occasional startling patches of blue and green. The heroic or ‘royal’ pictures attracted him more, particularly some large crowned heads, with round eyes and beards, richly and thickly painted, certainly self-portraits, and big grotesque heads of women, mournful, tearful or vindictive. Sometimes the bearded king was represented face to face with a large monstrous animal, ferocious or touchingly sad, which he seemed to be questioning. Sometimes the two were enlaced awkwardly falling or struggling together, fighting or embracing. In other versions a council of seated kings confronted a magnificent dragon, perhaps their captive, perhaps their captor. There were also large epic pictures, gorgeously and violently coloured, representing battle scenes, decorated by beautiful flags and heraldic clothing, wherein women and dog-headed men mingled, fighting bloodily with knives, battles elsewhere transmuted into erotic tangles, possibly murders, in luridly lit rooms. The ‘late-Titian’ style was distinguished by a larger sober light a sort of intensely luminous beige, flecked by squares of radiant cream and blue, depicting twilit halls or woodlands where quasi-classical scenes of violence were being enacted, women watching a man devoured by dogs, a girl watching a man caught by a snake, women pursued by humanoid animals, a youth watching a screaming girl becoming a tree; and here Edward also recognised much altered versions of early motifs, the snake emerging from the wheel, a frightening sphinx discovered in a stone recess, a winged head caught in a net, drowned animals, appalling adolescents, callous or terrified witnesses, deformed people sitting quietly together, stunned by hopelessness and fear, sometimes now watched through doors or windows by beautiful children, heartless, probably soulless, carrying emblems, flags or flowers, sometimes turning toward the spectator holding up, some ambiguous talisman between finger and thumb. The later ‘tantric’ pictures were distinguished by extremely luminous dark blues and golds, seas of colour in which oval eggs floated, grew, diminished, or exploded. No Christian themes were visible, nor any recognisable portraits of the inhabitants of Seegard, unless their features could be traced in the mourning heads of women. Edward was extremely impressed. The erotic force of the pictures made him feel weak at the knees.
in
the tower, standing in the big hexagonal lowest room. He wondered what to do about the door, whether to take the key with him. He dared not shut it. He decided to leave the key in the keyhole and prop the door open with a rush-bottomed stool which was to hand. The idea of being
trapped inside
was vaguely and alarmingly present. The unpartitioned space of the ground floor was clearly an art gallery, the ‘exhibition room’ Ilona had mentioned. But what immediately caught his attention was the unusual up-and-down design of the ceiling intended, as he soon realised, to accommodate windows at different levels, rising here and there in shafts and boxes to allow light in from above, and also descending presumably to accommodate windows which lighted the superior floor. Edward recalled the irregular apparently random spacing of the windows seen from outside. The ‘cubist’ or ‘coffered’ effect, painted grey blue and red, was startling and pleasant. The walls were white, the wooden floor painted grey. The place echoed, and though he walked cautiously, his footsteps made an uncomfortable noise. The room felt desolate and rather damp and the exhibits, to which he now attended, dusty and un-looked-at. There were some smallish pieces of sculpture in wood and stone, a few in bronze, which seemed to Edward’s untutored eye rather old-fashioned. Some of the female nudes might once have been thought daring, there were also entwined pairs, some human, some human and animal, including a quite interesting Leda and swan in a roundel; but if these were the erotica mentioned by Ilona, they were certainly not likely to astonish anyone now. The pictures were more rewarding. Edward inspected the abstracts, fiercely painted in the yellowest yellow and the blackest black he had ever seen, with occasional startling patches of blue and green. The heroic or ‘royal’ pictures attracted him more, particularly some large crowned heads, with round eyes and beards, richly and thickly painted, certainly self-portraits, and big grotesque heads of women, mournful, tearful or vindictive. Sometimes the bearded king was represented face to face with a large monstrous animal, ferocious or touchingly sad, which he seemed to be questioning. Sometimes the two were enlaced awkwardly falling or struggling together, fighting or embracing. In other versions a council of seated kings confronted a magnificent dragon, perhaps their captive, perhaps their captor. There were also large epic pictures, gorgeously and violently coloured, representing battle scenes, decorated by beautiful flags and heraldic clothing, wherein women and dog-headed men mingled, fighting bloodily with knives, battles elsewhere transmuted into erotic tangles, possibly murders, in luridly lit rooms. The ‘late-Titian’ style was distinguished by a larger sober light a sort of intensely luminous beige, flecked by squares of radiant cream and blue, depicting twilit halls or woodlands where quasi-classical scenes of violence were being enacted, women watching a man devoured by dogs, a girl watching a man caught by a snake, women pursued by humanoid animals, a youth watching a screaming girl becoming a tree; and here Edward also recognised much altered versions of early motifs, the snake emerging from the wheel, a frightening sphinx discovered in a stone recess, a winged head caught in a net, drowned animals, appalling adolescents, callous or terrified witnesses, deformed people sitting quietly together, stunned by hopelessness and fear, sometimes now watched through doors or windows by beautiful children, heartless, probably soulless, carrying emblems, flags or flowers, sometimes turning toward the spectator holding up, some ambiguous talisman between finger and thumb. The later ‘tantric’ pictures were distinguished by extremely luminous dark blues and golds, seas of colour in which oval eggs floated, grew, diminished, or exploded. No Christian themes were visible, nor any recognisable portraits of the inhabitants of Seegard, unless their features could be traced in the mourning heads of women. Edward was extremely impressed. The erotic force of the pictures made him feel weak at the knees.
Other books
Why You Were Taken by JT Lawrence
Bloodfire (The Sojourns of Rebirth) by Matthew Medina
Molly Matthews Meddles in Marriage by Jill Steeples
Muse (Tales of Silver Downs Book 1) by Kylie Quillinan
Kade's Dark Embrace (Immortals of New Orleans) by Grosso, Kym
Traficantes de dinero by Arthur Hailey
Kaldor Draigo: Knight of Titan by L J Goulding
Lake in the Clouds by Sara Donati
Desire Me by Robyn Dehart
What Part of Marine Don't You Understand? (The Challenge Series) by Long, Heather
