The Good Apprentice (60 page)

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Authors: Iris Murdoch

BOOK: The Good Apprentice
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‘I knew you’d say that! What about me?’
‘I mean, how dreadful to suffer through hating. But she’ll recover, she’ll see it differently, she’ll suffer differently. It doesn’t make any difference to you, I mean so long as you wish her well and don’t hate her back.’
‘How do you mean, no difference?’
‘Well, it doesn’t give you any new information about what actually happened. You have to think about that in your way, not in her way. She’s not the voice of God or justice of anything. She can’t touch you or harm you. She’s an unhappy person reacting in a violent manner. Of course you’re connected with her, you have duties, to think of her, pity her, help her if you could-you’re connected forever. But that doesn’t mean she’s your judge. You don’t hate her, do you?’
‘No, of course not, but — ’ Stuart’s reply muddled Edward. He felt dissatisfied with it. ‘What those letters say-it’s a menace; it’s a curse — ’
‘She can’t curse you, Ed. That sort of power doesn’t exist. The destructive bit is all in your own mind. Or do you think she’ll arrive with a gun?’
‘No, I suppose not. But hatred can kill all the same. She can make me hate myself. I could accidentally fall under a bus because I thought she wanted me to and because I agreed with her, I could curse myself.’
Stuart gazed at him, frowning. ‘You shouldn’t be alone here. It’s one of Thomas’s bright ideas, but he’s not always right. He thinks about things in a dramatic way. Don’t see it all as a drama or a riddle. There isn’t any riddle.’
‘Yes, there is. My riddle. My very own.’
‘Come back soon, come home or come to my place. Well, I’m going to move out actually, we could look for somewhere together. You’ve made such a point of suffering, it’s enough, come back and rest, be
quiet,
you’re stirring yourself up so all the time, you’ve been through it all — ’
‘I haven’t — not yet — perhaps never — ’ It occurred to Edward that Stuart did not know about Jesse’s disappearance. He resisted the temptation to tell him.
That
was part of it all — it had to be connected — somehow. Connected — like his eternal connection with Mrs Wilsden. He considered asking Stuart if Jesse was with Midge, but the question would sound crazy, and if Stuart had seen Jesse in London he would have said so. Of course Midge had denied that Jesse was with her, but he might be there secretly. Edward had better go and find out for himself. He said, ‘Perhaps I’ll go and see Midge.’
‘Good, it’ll be something for you to do.’
‘What are
you
doing, if it comes to that? Have you planned your life yet?’
‘Not really. I might take a teacher’s training course. I could get a grant.’
‘Teach sixth-form maths? You’ll soon be back where you started!’
‘No, not that. I’d have to learn a lot of new things — ’
‘You’re daft!’
There was a soft knock on the door. Edward, startled, frightened, called, ‘Come in.’ A girl came in. The girl was Brownie.
Edward and Stuart looked up. Edward suppressed a yell of joy. He said to her, ‘Hello. This is my brother, Stuart Cuno. He’s just leaving.’ Then to Stuart, ‘This is — a student — someone I know — Betty er — ’
Brownie advanced. Stuart edged round her. They looked at each other and Stuart bowed slightly and then went out of the door. His heavy feet receded down the stairs.
Brownie and Edward stood like statues. Edward had suppressed his impulse to rush to her crying out, and now found himself wondering what to say. He made a vague welcoming gesture and said, ‘How did you find me?’
‘I thought you might be here.’
He wondered why she thought that. ‘Please sit down.’ He thought, we are a thousand miles from each other, all that closeness, all that ease, has gone.
‘Why did you say I was someone else?’
‘Because I couldn’t bear anyone to know that we know each other.’ The idea of Stuart knowing was intolerable. Why? Because Stuart would
think
about it, have expectations, wonder about the future. But
no one
must do that, even Edward must not. Too much was at stake. If he lost Brownie, if she went away, if she rejected him or detested him: that must not be known. He could not bear, after all
that,
that people should also know that he had known Brownie and lost her. That, with all the other things that they knew, would be too much. About Brownie, about Jesse, these must be secrets, secret matters, locked away.
‘Why not?’ said Brownie. She walked over to the window and looked out, but did not open it.
‘You know what room this is?’
‘Yes.’
‘You haven’t been to it before?’
‘No.’
Brownie returned from the window and sat on the chair vacated by Stuart. She put her handbag on the floor beside her. She was wearing a brownish tartan skirt and a floppy woollen cardigan over a striped shirt. She pulled her skirt down and wound the cardigan about her. The sun was clouded over and the room was cold. Edward sat down again on the bed.
‘Oh Brownie, I’m so desperately glad to see you, I’ve wanted to see you so much — ’
‘But why don’t you want other people to know — ?’
Edward was about to say: in case I lose you, but the words were presumptuous. How could he not lose her? Or rather, how could he lose what he had never had? He said, ‘I don’t want this, our knowing each other, gossiped about, it’s too precious.’
‘I see, yes.’ She said after a pause, ‘Are you living here, then?’
It occurred nightmarishly to Edward that she might think he had just returned to his old room as a matter of course, that he
didn’t care.
He said carefully, ‘I felt I had to face it, that it would be a good thing — I’m not staying long — just long enough to — ’ He floundered.
. Brownie looked at him with a heavy long tired face, with a thinned drooping mouth. There were wrinkles and discoloured flesh about her eyes and she looked as if she might have been crying. Her hair had been a little jaggedly cut shorter, perhaps she had chopped it about herself with hasty scissors. Her large face looked naked and vulnerable, strained, almost ugly, with its prominent bare brow. She looked like a clever woman, an older woman, not connected with someone like Edward. Her stony brown eyes questioned him, then looked disconsolately away.
Edward felt again that sickness of being, that awful clawed-away unreality which he had spoken of to Stuart. He thought, she’ll go away and we won’t have really talked at all, this time she’ll go away forever. ‘Brownie — please,
please
— ’
‘I know. I’m sorry. I’m just in a state of shock.’
‘Forgive me. I know. Seeing this room. You felt you had to. I can’t help calling out to you. Oh if you knew how full of nightmares my head is, it’s full of spiders.’
Brownie considered him with a softened expression. ‘Spiders are nice animals. They do no harm.’
‘These ones are poisonous.’
‘I know. I’m just making conversation. Be patient. Is my mother still writing to you?’
‘Yes.’
‘In the same way?’
‘Yes.’ Edward thought, my God, she mustn’t see those letters, she might ask to read them, she’d see such a terrible blackened picture of me in those letters. But the letters were nowhere to be seen, Stuart must have taken them away.
‘My mother is suffering frightfully, she’s scarcely sane.’
‘I — yes — I’m sorry — I wish I could — are you living with her?’
‘No, I’m staying with friends, with Sarah Plowmain, at her mother’s place.’
‘Oh — Sarah — ’ The remembrance of Sarah was painful, unwelcome, and the idea of Brownie intimate with Sarah, talking to Sarah was utterly sickening. Edward recalled his glimpse through the window of Sarah kneeling in front of Brownie and comforting her. He wanted to kneel down now in front of Brownie and comfort and be comforted. But the distance seemed insuperable, the posture impossible.
‘You see,’ said Brownie, ‘my mother sort of — hates the sight of me — for being alive while Mark is dead — she always loved him more.’
‘Oh my God!’ Can’t these things
stop,
he thought, is there
no end
to the consequences?
‘She will get over it of course. She loves me really. That love will endure and the hate will go. She will stop hating you too. Don’t be — afflicted by it.’
The word ‘afflicted’ fell in front of Edward like a portcullis. He could think of nothing to say for a moment and kept shaking his head in a slow stupid way as if making some silent observation. He felt leprous, untouchable with misery,
dull
with it. Brownie could not give him the
life
that he longed for and hoped for. He felt, like a man in instant danger of death, that he must do something at once, make some effort to save himself. He was afraid that at any moment she might say goodbye and he would be unable to stop her. He must at least keep her talking, hold her mind against his like a healing leech.
He said, ‘I wish I could do something for your mother, but of course there’s nothing I can do. Perhaps I could do something for her without her knowing, without her ever knowing — well, that’s nonsense isn’t it. I must start thinking about doing something for someone.’ He thought of Midge for a second.
‘Are you studying, reading books?’
‘No.’
‘Shouldn’t you? You’re doing French, aren’t you?’
‘Yes — like Mark — ’
‘Get back to work, that’s best.’
‘What did you do at Cambridge?’
‘Russian. I’m writing a thesis on Leskov.’
‘You’re lucky to know Russian.’
‘You could learn it, it’s not hard, it’s a marvellous language.’
After an empty silence Brownie picked up her handbag. ‘Well, don’t worry about my mother — ’ It was a preface to departure.
‘Brownie, come and sit beside me here.
Come
.’
She came and sat beside him on the bed and they sat awkwardly together side by side, fumbling for each other’s hands and trying to look at each other. Then with sudden agility, Edward swung his long legs up onto the bed and somehow bundled Brownie round with him as he lay back. For an instant he terribly feared her resistance, but none came. Brownie dropped her handbag and clumsily humped herself in full length beside him. They lay face to face, breast to breast, her heavy shoes knocking his ankles. Edward sat up for a moment, took his shoes off, then hers. She lay still and her warm feet aided him. She had now half buried her face in the heavy counterpane which covered the bed. He lay back and caressed her hair and laid his hand across her shoulder. Intense relief and an infinitely gentle desire which was relief and worship and gratitude flowed through his relaxed body. He put his lips against her cheek, not kissing, just touching. Her cheek was hot and wet. ‘Brownie, I love you.’
She said, muffled, ‘Edward — dear Edward — ’
‘I need you, I love you, you need me.’
She pushed him away a little, turning her head to look at him, their faces suddenly huge, flushed and made strange with emotion, smeared with her tears. ‘Yes, we need each other — but it’s because of Mark.’
‘We’re bound together. You love me, say you do.’
‘Yes, but it’s because of Mark.’
‘It’s a miracle. You don’t hate me, you love me.’
‘Yes, but — ’
‘You’ve said “but” three times. Don’t kill me now that you’ve said you love me. Just love me and give me life. Oh my darling, oh my joy, my Brownie, will you marry me?’
‘Why did you come here?’ said Elspeth Macran. ‘Hasn’t she got enough troubles without your intruding?’
‘Come away, Stuart, come and talk to me,’ said Ursula Brightwalton.
‘I’m sorry. I wanted to talk to Mrs Wilsden alone,’ said Stuart. ‘I can come back another time.’
Mrs Wilsden was sitting at a table in the darkened room. There was a teapot on the table. Elspeth Macran was sitting next to her. Ursula had risen when Stuart was ushered in by Sarah.
‘Why did you let him in?’ Elspeth Macran asked her daughter.
‘I just arrived,’ said Sarah. ‘He said he wanted to see Mrs Wilsden. I didn’t know you were all here.’
‘You’re a fool,’ said Elspeth Macran. ‘And put out that cigarette.’
‘He just followed me in — ’
‘I’ll go,’ said Stuart. ‘Perhaps I could come tomorrow.’
‘No, you can’t come tomorrow,’ said Mrs Wilsden. ‘You came to say something, say it. Don’t
you
go,’ she said to Ursula and Elspeth.
‘We certainly won’t,’ said Elspeth.
‘Have you come as an ambassador?’ said Ursula.
‘Tell him to sit down.’
‘Sit down, Stuart.’
Stuart sat down near the door, near to the lamp which gave the only light in the room. At the far end, where the table was, the curtains had been pulled against the fading evening sky. Ursula resumed her seat on the other side of Mrs Wilsden. Sarah squatted on the floor near the fireplace. The lamplight shone on Stuart’s blond hair and dazzled a little in his narrowed eyes. He stared uneasily at the three figures at the table.

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