The Magus (36 page)

A second later I had let go of her and was reaching in my pocket for the matches. I struck one and lifted her left hand. It was scarless. I raised the match. The eyes, the mouth, the shape of the chin, everything about her was like Julie. But she was not Julie. There were little puckers at the corner of her mouth, a slight over-alertness in the look, a sort of calculated impudence; above all, there was a deep sun-tan. She sustained my stare, then looked down, then up again under her eyelashes.

‘Damn.’ I nicked the match away, and struck another. She promptly blew it out.

‘Nicholas.’ A low, reproachful – and strange – voice.

‘There must be some mistake. Nicholas is my twin brother.’

‘I thought midnight would never come.’

‘Where is she?’

I spoke angrily, and I was angry, but not quite as much as I sounded. It was so neat a modulation into the world of Beaumarchais, of Restoration comedy; and I knew the height the dupe has fallen is measured by his anger.

‘She?’

‘You forgot your scar.’

‘How clever of you to see it was make-up before.’

‘And your voice.’

‘It’s the night air.’ She coughed.

I caught hold of her hand and pulled her over to the seat under the almond tree.

‘Now. Where is she?’

‘She couldn’t come. And don’t be so rough.’

‘Well, where is she?’ The girl was silent. I said, ‘That wasn’t funny.’

‘I thought it was rather exciting.’ She sat, then glanced up at me. ‘And so did you.’

‘For Christ’s sake I thought you … ‘ but I didn’t bother to finish the sentence. ‘You’re June?’

‘Yes. If you’re Nicholas.’

I sat down beside her and fished out a packet of Papastratos. She took one, and I gave her a good long look in the matchflare. In return she examined me, with eyes markedly less frivolous than her voice till then.

The striking facial similarity with her sister upset me in some unexpected way. It seemed a hitherto unrealized aspect of Julie that I could do without, an unnecessary complication. Perhaps it was the tan on this other girl’s skin, a general air of living a more outdoor, physical life, of being healthier, a fraction more rounded in the cheeks … indeed of being what Julie herself must look like in normal circumstances. I leant forward, elbows on knees.

‘Why didn’t she come herself?’

‘I thought Maurice had told you why.’

I didn’t show it, but I felt like an over-confident chess-player who suddenly sees that his supposedly impregnable queen is only one move from extinction. Once again I thought frantically back – perhaps the old man had been right about the high intelligence of some schizophrenics. The tea-throwing scene had seemed too far out of character if she was cunning-mad; but cunning-madder still might have precipitated it just to plant the wink at the end; then those collusive bare feet under the table, the message with the matches … perhaps he had been less oblivious than he had seemed.

‘We don’t blame you. Julie’s misled far greater experts than you.’

‘Why are you so sure I’m misled?’

‘Because you wouldn’t have kissed someone you really thought was mentally unbalanced like that.’ She added, ‘At least I hope you wouldn’t.’ I said nothing. ‘Honestly, we’re not blaming you. I know how clever she is at suggesting that the madness is in everyone around her. The damsel-in-distress line.’

But there was something faintly interrogative behind her tone of voice in that last little phrase, as if she wasn’t quite certain how I would react – how far I could be pushed.

‘She’s certainly cleverer at that than the line you’re taking.’

She was silent a long moment. ‘You don’t believe me?’

‘You know I don’t believe you. And I think your sister’s mean to still doubt me.’

She left a longer silence still.

‘We couldn’t both get away together.’ She added in a lower voice, ‘I wanted to be sure, too.’

‘Sure of what?’

‘That you are what you claim.’

‘I’ve told her the truth.’

‘As she keeps claiming. With a little too much enthusiasm to make me feel she’s in a fit state to judge.’ She added drily, ‘Which I now begin to understand. At least physically.’

‘You can easily check that I work at a school on the other side of the island.’

‘We know there’s a school. I don’t suppose you have any means of identification on you?’

‘This is ridiculous.’

‘Not so ridiculous, in present circumstances, as my not asking.’

I had to grant some justice to that. ‘I haven’t got my passport. A Greek
permis de séjour,
if that’s any good.’

‘May I see it? Please?’

I fished in my back pocket, then struck three or four matches while she examined the
permis.
It gave my name, address and profession. She handed it back.

‘Satisfied?’

Her voice was serious. ‘You swear you’re not working for him?’

‘Only in the sense you know. That I’ve been told Julie is undergoing some kind of experimental cure for schizophrenia. Which I’ve never believed. Or never face-to-face with her.’

‘You never met Maurice before you came here a month ago?’

‘Categorically not.’

‘Or signed a contract of any sort with him?’

I looked at her. ‘Meaning you have?’

‘Yes. But not for what’s happening.’

She hesitated. ‘Julie will tell you tomorrow.’

‘I wouldn’t mind seeing some documentary evidence either.’

‘All right. That’s fair enough.’ She dropped her cigarette and screwed it out. Her next question came out of the blue. ‘Are there any police on the island?’

‘A sergeant, two men. Why do you ask?’

‘I just wondered.’

I drew a breath. ‘Let me get this straight. First of all you were ghosts. Then you were schizophrenics. Now you’re next week’s consignment to the seraglio.’

‘Sometimes I almost wish we were. It would be simpler.’ She said quickly, ‘Nicholas, I’m notorious for never taking anything very seriously, and that’s partly why we’re here, and even now it’s fun in a way – but we really are just two English girls who’ve got themselves into such deep waters these last two months that… ‘ she broke off, and there was a silence between us.

‘Do you share Julie’s fascination for Maurice?’

She didn’t answer for a moment, and I looked at her. She had a wry smile.

‘I have a suspicion that you and I are going to understand each other.’

‘You don’t share it?’

She looked down. ‘She’s academically much brighter than I am, but … I do have a sort of basic common-sense she lacks. I smell a rat if I don’t understand what’s going on. Julie tends to be all starry-eyed about it.’

‘Why did you bring up the police?’

‘Because we’re prisoners here. Oh, very subtle prisoners. No expense spared, there aren’t any bars – I gather she’s told you we’re constantly being assured we can go home whenever we like. Except that somehow we’re always being shepherded and watched.’

‘Are we safe at the moment?’

‘I hope so. But I must go soon.’

‘I can easily get the police. If you want.’

‘That’s a relief.’

‘And what’s
your
theory about what’s going on?’

She gave me a rueful smile. ‘I was going to ask you that.’

‘I accept he has been genuinely connected with psychiatry.’

‘He questions Julie for hours after you’ve been here. What you said, how you behaved, what lies she told you … all the rest of it. It’s as if he gets some vicarious thrill from knowing every detail.’

‘And he does hypnotize her?’

‘He’s done us both – me only once. That extraordinary … you had it?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Julie several times. To help her learn her parts. All the facts about the Lily thing. Then a whole session on how a schizophrenic would behave.’

‘Does he question her while she’s under?’

‘To be fair, no. He’s always scrupulous about whichever one of us isn’t being hypnotized being present. I’ve always been there listening.’

‘But you have doubts?’

She hesitated again. ‘There’s something that worries us. A sort of voyeuristic side. The feeling we have that he’s watching you two falling for each other.’ She looked at me. ‘Has Julie told you about three hearts?’ She must have seen by my face that the answer was no. ‘I’d rather she told you. Tomorrow.’

‘What three hearts?’

‘The original idea wasn’t that I should always stay in the background.’

‘And?’

‘I’d rather she told you.’

I made a guess. ‘You and me?’

She hesitated. ‘It has been dropped now. Because of what’s happened. But we suspect it was always meant to be dropped. Which leaves me wondering why I’m here at all.’

‘But it’s vile. We’re not just pawns on a chessboard.’

‘As he knows full well, Nicholas. It’s not just that he wants to be mysterious to us. He wants us to be mysterious to him.’ She smiled and murmured, ‘Anyway, speaking for myself, I’m not sure I don’t wish it hadn’t been dropped.’

‘Can I tell your sister that?’

She grinned and looked down. ‘You mustn’t take me too seriously.’

‘I’ve already begun to realize that.’

She let a little silence pass. ‘Julie’s only just got over a particularly messy affaire, Nicholas. That’s one reason she wanted to be out of England.’

‘She has my sympathies.’

‘So I understand. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t want to see her hurt again.’

‘She won’t be hurt by me.’

She leant forward. ‘She has a kind of genius for picking the wrong men. I don’t know you, so that’s not meant personally at all. Simply that her past record doesn’t give me much confidence.’ She said, ‘I’m being over-protective.’

‘She doesn’t need protecting from me.’

‘I just mean that she’s always looking for poetry and passion and sensitivity, the whole Romantic kitchen. I live on a rather simpler diet.’

‘Prose and pudding?’

‘I don’t expect attractive men necessarily to have attractive souls.’

She said it with a dryness tinged with wistfulness that I liked. I looked secretly at her profiled face; and had a glimpse of a world where they did both play the same part, where I had both, the dark and the pale; Renaissance bawdy stories about girls who changed places in the night. I saw a future where, all right, of course, I married Julie, but this equally attractive and evidently rather different sister-in-law accompanied, if only aesthetically, the marriage. With twins there must always be nuances, suggestions, blendings of identity, souls and bodies that became indistinguishable and reciprocally haunting.

She murmured, ‘I must go now.’

‘Have I convinced you?’

‘As much as you can.’

‘Can’t I walk back with you to wherever you hide?’

‘You can’t come in.’

‘All right. But I need reassurance, too.’

She hesitated. ‘If you’ll promise to turn back when I say.’

‘Agreed.’

We stood up and went down towards the statue of Poseidon in the starlight. We had hardly reached it when we saw we hadn’t been alone. We both froze. A white figure had stood out, some twenty-five yards away, from among the bushes at the bottom, seaward side of the clearing round the statue. We had spoken in voices too low to be overheard, but it was still a shock.

June whispered, ‘Oh God. Damn.’

‘Who is it?’

She caught my hand and made me turn away.

‘It’s our beloved watchdog. Don’t do anything. I’ll have to leave you here.’

I looked over my shoulder and made him out better – a man in a white medical coat, a would-be male nurse with some kind of dark mask over his face, whose features I couldn’t distinguish. June pressed my hand and sought my eyes, a look as direct as her sister’s.

‘I do trust you. Please trust us.’

‘What’s going to happen now?’

‘I don’t know. But don’t start arguing. Just go back to the house.’

She leant quickly forward, pulling me a little towards her, and kissed my cheek. Then she was walking down towards the white coat. When she was near the man, I followed her. He stood silently aside to let her pass into the deeper darkness between the trees, but then blocked the opening between the bushes again. With a shock, almost greater than seeing him in the first place, I suddenly realized as I came down to him that he wasn’t wearing a mask. He was a Negro: a big, tall man, perhaps five years older than myself. He stared at me without expression. I came to within some ten feet of him. He extended his arms, warning, forbidding the way. I could see he was lighter-skinned than some black men, a smooth face, intent eyes, somehow liquid and animal, concentrated purely on the physical problem of my next move. He stood poised yet coiled, like an athlete, a boxer.

I stopped and said, ‘You look prettier with your jackal mask on.’

He did not move. But June’s face reappeared behind him. It was anxious, beseeching.

‘Nicholas. Go back to the house.
Please.’
I looked from her concerned eyes to his. She said, ‘He can’t speak. He’s a mute.’

‘I thought black eunuchs went out with the Ottoman Empire.’

His expression did not change a millimetre, and I had the impression that he hadn’t even understood my words. But after a moment he folded his arms and widened his stance. I could see a black polo-neck jumper under the medical coat. I knew he wanted me to come at him, and I was tempted to take him on.

I let June decide. I looked past him at her. ‘Will you be all right?’

‘Yes. Please go.’

‘I’ll wait by the statue.’

She nodded and turned away. I went back to the sea-god, and sat on the rock he stood on; for some reason, I don’t know why, reached out a hand and grasped his bronze ankle. The Negro stood with folded arms, like a bored attendant in a museum – or perhaps indeed like some scimitared janissary at the gates of the imperial harem. I relinquished the ankle and lit a cigarette to counter the released adrenalin. A minute passed, two. I listened, despite the sisters’ talk of a hiding-place, for a boat engine. But there was silence. I felt, beyond the insult to my virility before an attractive girl, ill-at-ease and guilty. The news of the clandestine meeting would obviously go straight back to Conchis now. Perhaps he would appear. It wasn’t so much that I was frightened of having a show-down over the schizophrenia nonsense; but that having broken his rules so signally, I would be sent off the field for good. I contemplated trying to suborn the Negro in some way, argue with him, plead. But he simply waited in the shadows, a doubly, both racially and personally, anonymous face.