The Magus, A Revised Version (44 page)

‘
Look, I
’
m going to get you a drink. Now stop wailing.
’

I hovered over her. She took no notice, went on beating the bedrail. I got to the door, hesitated, looked back, then went out. Three Greeks, a man and woman and an elder man, were standing two open doors away, staring at me as if I were a murderer. I went downstairs, opened the bottle, swallowed a stiff shot straight out of it, then went back.

The door was locked. The three spectators continued to stare; watched me try it, knock, try it again, knock, then call her name.

The older man came up to me.

Was anything wrong?

I grimaced and muttered. The heat.

He repeated it unnecessarily back to the other two. Ah, the heat, said the woman, as if that explained everything. They did not move.

I tried once more; called her name through the wooden panels. I could hear nothing. I shrugged for the benefit of the Greeks, and went back downstairs. Ten minutes later I returned; I returned four or five times more during the next hour; and always the door, to my secret relief, was shut.

I had asked to be and was woken at eight, and I dressed at once and went to her room. I knocked; no answer. When I tried the handle, the door opened. The bed had been slept in, but Alison and all her belongings were gone. I ran straight down to the reception desk. A rabbity old man with spectacles, the father of the proprietor, sat behind it. He
’
d been in America, and spoke English quite well.

‘
You know that girl I was with last night
–
has she gone out this morning?
’

‘
Oh yeah. She wen
’
out.
’

‘
When?
’

He looked up at the clock.
‘
About one hour since. She lef
’
this. She said give it you when you came down.
’

An envelope. My scrawled name:
N. Urfe.

‘
She didn
’
t say where she was going?
’

‘
Just paid her check and went.
’
I
knew by the way he was watching
me that he had heard, or heard about, the screaming the evening before.

‘
But I said I
’
d pay.
’

‘
I said. I told her.
’

‘
Damn.
’

As I turned to go he said,
‘
Hey, you know what they say in the States? Always pl
e
nny more fish in the sea. Know that one? Plenny more fish in the sea.
’

I went back to my room and opened her letter. It was a scrawl, a last-moment decision not to go in silence.

Think what it would be like if you got back to your island and there was no old man, no girl any more. No mysterious fun and games. The whole place locked up for ever.

It
’
s finished finished
finished.

About ten I telephoned the airport. Alison had not returned, and was not due to return until her flight to London at five that afternoon. I tried again at eleven thirty, just before the boat sailed; the same answer. As the ship, which was filled with returning boys, drew out from the quay I scanned the crowds of parents and relations and idlers. I had some idea that she was there among them, watching; but if she was, she was invisible.

The ugly industrial seafront of the Piraeus receded and the boat headed south for the svelte blue peak of Aegina. I went to the bar and ordered a large ouzo; it was the only place the boys were not allowed. I drank a mouthful neat, and made a sort of bitter inner toast. I had chosen my own way; the difficult, hazardous, poetic way; all on one number; though even then I heard Alison bitterly reverse those last two words.

Someone slipped on to the stool beside me. It was Demetriadcs. He clapped his hands for the barman.

‘
Buy me a drink, you perverted Englishman. And I will tell you how I spent a most amusing weekend.
’

⁴³

Think what it would be like if you got back to your island and
… I had all
Tuesday to think nothing but that; to see myself as Alison saw me. I drafted a long letter, several letters, to her that evening, but none of them said what I wanted: that I hated what I had done to her, but couldn
’
t do otherwise. I was like one of Ulysses
’
sailors
–
turned into a swine, and able now only to be my new self. I tore the pages up. What I really wanted to say was that I was enchanted and that I had, absurd though it was, to be free to be enchanted.

It was a help to teach hard, conscientiously for once, to get through the suspense. On Wednesday evening, when I returned from the last lesson of the day to my room, I found a note on my desk. My heart leapt. I recognized the handwriting at once. The note said:
‘
We look forward to seeing you on Saturday. If I do not hear to the contrary I shall know that you are coming. Maurice Conchis.
’
It was dated above
‘
Wednesday morning
’
. I felt an enormous relief, a surge of renewed excitement; and suddenly everything during that last weekend seemed, if not justified, necessary.

I had marking to do, but I couldn
’
t stay in. I walked up to the main ridge, to my natural gazebo. I had to see the roof of Bourani, the south of the island, the sea, the mountains, all the reality of the unreality. There was none of the burning need to go down and spy that had possessed me the previous week, but a balancing mixture of expectation and reassurance, a certainty of the health of the symbiosis. I was their still; they were mine.

For some extraordinary reason, on the way back to the school, my own happiness made me think of Alison again; almost to pity her her ignorance of her real rival. On impulse, before I started on the marking, I scribbled her a note.

Allie darling, you
cant
say to someone
‘
I
’
ve decided I ought
to love you
’
. I can see a million
reasons
why I ought to love you,
because (as I tried to explain) in my fashion, my perfect-bastard fashion, I do love you. Parnassus was beautiful, please don
’
t
think it was nothing to me, only the body, or could ever be anything but unforgettable, always, for me. Let
’
s for God
’
s sake keep that. I know it
’
s over. But a moment or two, beside that pool, however many other lovers we both have, will never be over.

It relieved my conscience a little, and I posted it the next morning. The only conscious exaggeration was in the last sentence.

At ten to four on Saturday I was at the gate of Bourani; and there, walking along the track towards me, was Conchis. He had on a black shirt, long khaki shorts; dark brown shoes and faded green stockings. He was walking purposefully, almost in a hurry, as if he had wanted to be out of the way before I arrived. But he raised his arm as soon as he saw me. We stopped in mid-track, six feet apart.

‘
Nicholas.
’

‘
Hallo.
’

He gave his little headshake.

‘
A pleasant half-term?
’

‘
Not particularly.
’

‘
You went to Athens?
’

I had already decided on my story there. He might know, through Hermes or Patarescu, that I had been away.

‘
My friend couldn
’
t make it. Her airline have put her on another route.
’

‘
Ah. I am sorry. A shame.
’

I shrugged, then eyed him.
‘
I spent most of it wondering whether I should come here again. I haven
’
t been hypnotized before.
’

He smiled, he knew what I was really asking.

‘
It is for you to reject or accept what was suggested.
’

I remembered, as I smiled thinly in return, that I was back in a polysemantic world.
‘
I
’
m grateful for that part of it.
’

‘
There was no other part.
’
He did not take kindly to my sceptical look, and went on with some asperity.
‘
I am a doctor, therefore under the Hippocratic oath. If I ever wished to ask you questions under hypnosis, I should most certainly ask your permission first. Apart from anything else, it is a very unsatisfactory met
hod. It has
been demonstrated again and again that patients are quite capable of lying under hypnosis.
’

‘
All those stories about sinister mesmerists forcing
–
’

‘
A hypnotist can force you to do foolish and incongruous things. But he is powerless against the super-ego. I can assure you of that.
’

I let a few moments pass.

‘
You
’
re going out?
’

‘
I have been writing all day. I must walk. But I hoped to meet you first. Someone is waiting to serve you tea.
’

‘
How do you want me to behave?
’

He glanced back towards the invisible house, then took my arm and made me stroll back beside him towards the gate.

‘
Our patient is in mixed spirits. She cannot quite hide her excitement at your return. Nor her disappointment that I am in the little secret between you.
’

‘
What little secret is that?
’

He gave me a look under his eyebrows.
‘
Investigative hypnosis is a regular part of my treatment
other,
Nicholas.
’

‘
With her permission?
’

‘
In this case, her parents
’
.
’

‘
I see.
’

‘
I know she is pretending to be an actress now. And I know why. She wishes to please you.
’

‘
Please me?
’

‘
You accused her of acting, or so I understand. And she has gratefully embraced the accusation.
’
He squeezed my elbow.
‘
But I have set her a problem. I have told her I know her new disguise. Not through hypnosis. But because you have told me.
’

‘
Then now she won
’
t trust me.
’

‘
She never trusted you. She also revealed under hypnosis that from the first she suspected you to be a doctor
–
someone working with me.
’

I recalled what she had said about being spun round in blind-man
’
s-buff.

‘
But rightly suspicious
–
now that you
’
ve told me the … truth?
’

He raised a delighted finger.
‘
Precisely.
’
It was as if he were congratulating an especially bright pupil; and was blind, as nonsensically blind as one of Lewis Carroll
’
s queens before Alice, to my
obvious bewilderment.
‘
Therefore your task is now to gain her confidence. By all means share any suspicion she shows of my motives. Give them credence. But be careful. She may set traps. You must make objections if she becomes too farfetched. Always remember that one side of her split mentality is quite capable of rational assessment
–
and has a great deal of experience in making fools of doctors whose technique is to humour
ad absurdum.
I am sure some story of persecution will come. She will try to gain you to her side. Against me.
’