The Green Knight

by Iris Murdoch

  Sefton had moved back into the house. Moy had run in after her and released Anax who had been shut in the kitchen. Louise, still on the pavement, said to Harvey, ‘Come in, my dear, and have a cup of tea.’

  Harvey followed her in. Moy, followed by Anax, was disappearing up the stairs. Sefton had entered her own room and shut the door. Louise went into the kitchen. Harvey said, ‘I want to talk to Anax. I’ll be back in a minute.’ He followed the bounding dog up the stairs and on up to the top landing. Moy, turning and seeing him, looked startled. She pushed open the door of her room. He sat down on the top step and tried to attract Anax’s attention while Moy watched. The dog calmed down and, called by his name, came to Harvey who patted him, uttering endearments, and then stroking his long back from which the thick soft fur fell down so neatly, stroking him over his sleek head and over his long grey muzzle and his black whiskers, gently touching his black curling lips and his white teeth and his moist black nose. Anax gazed at him with his blue eyes which were so distant and so strange and so sad. Harvey, looking up at Moy, thought suddenly, Anax loves Bellamy, Moy loves Clement, I love Aleph. And here we all are shipwrecked. Oh what a fool I am! ‘When will she be back?’ he said to Moy. Moy made a vague helpless gesture. Evidently she didn’t know.

  Harvey rose and made his way cautiously down the stairs. The kitchen door was open and Louise was sitting at the table. Harvey thought, this house which I know so well and have known so long ought to be my home. Only it is not. My mother is right. Less and less will I be welcome here.

  ‘Harvey, sit down, have some tea. Why don’t I see you more often? I wish you would regard this place as your home like you used to do. Have some of this lemon sponge cake, I made it for Aleph only she wouldn’t have any. How is your mother? She is neglecting us too.’

  ‘Oh she’s all right. You know Emil is back? Clive has left him.’

  ‘Yes, Emil rang me up, he wanted all the news. He told me about Clive. So sad, isn’t it, after so many years.’

  ‘Yes. He wants to be alone now.’

  ‘I quite understand. So you are sharing your flat with Joan? Isn’t it much too small?’

  ‘Yes, but I think she’s going to move in with Clement.’

  ‘To move in with Clement?’

  Harvey had no sooner said this at random than he felt another pang of sharp and painful remorse. If he had been a grain more sensitive he should have realised that Louise was on the point of offering him Aleph’s room. If only he could have lived in Aleph’s house, slept in Aleph’s bed, the magic power which he so desperately longed for would have been granted to him.

  Yes, ‘everyone’ had been invited to Peter’s party: the Cliftonians of course, Lucas, Clement, Bellamy, Harvey, Joan, Tessa, Emil, the Adwardens (but only Jeremy and Connie could come, Rosemary was away touring with Aleph and the boys had returned to their boarding school), the landlord of The Castle, and Cora Brock who had, as Joan put it, ‘Got into the act somehow as usual.’ Anax had also been invited, but of course with Bellamy there his presence was impossible.

  The invitation said simply Peter Mir at home 6 p.m. onward, but Peter had assured Bellamy who told Clement who told Louise that besides, of course drinks, there would be ‘things to eat’. ‘I suppose we shall have to eat standing up, which I abominate,’ said Clement. There were also reflections about who else, strangers, other friends of Peter’s, might be present. This remained unclear, though Bellamy reported that Peter had said ‘family only’, meaning what he called his ‘new family’. ‘He wants to thank us for being kind to him,’ said Louise. Clement found this very funny. Joan suggested that he was gathering us together to blow us up. Altogether there was a good deal of not unpleasant mystification, including problems about what it would be correct to wear. How long a skirt? What sort of tie?

  Clement, putting on a dark blue bow tie, was in a very unhappy state. Joan had telephoned him asking if she could come and stay in his flat, ‘Only for a few days,’ she said, while Harvey was finding somewhere else to live. Clement had felt instantly that he passionately did not want Joan in his flat, if she were there he would go mad. Why? Because he was in love with her? Certainly not. He hated her, he hated himself. The horror of that scene with the knife had not left him. How could that, which he had witnessed, have really happened? Clement’s dread now concerned not only the sight of the knife and the blood, but perhaps even more the dance, as it now seemed to him, performed by the two of them after the event. The word ‘event’, now recurring to him again, made it all seem increasingly like the slow enactment of an awful pantomime. What he had lately seen might be called the ‘third event’, or Act Three. They had laughed, they had capered round each other, they had positively delighted in each other, they had surely touched each other. It was like watching mad goats dancing. Thank heavens, he thought, as he fumbled with his tie, Lucas, who never came to parties, would not be present at this one! Or, in the new nightmarish scenario into which they were now entering, would Lucas come, would he decide to manifest himself? Perhaps this would turn out to be Act Four. I’m sure, thought Clement, that something terrible and absolutely unexpected will happen at this party. Time had unravelled itself with a baneful slowness since that unspeakable first moment. Then there had been the law case, Lucas’s disappearance, the miserable interim, then the tête-à-tête with Lucas which had had some meaning which now escaped Clement, then the horror of Peter rising from the dead, then the ‘trial’ and Peter’s conquest of ‘the ladies’, then the metamorphosis, then the climax, the knife, the blood, the dance. Then Joan proposing to move into his flat. ‘No!’ he had cried on the telephone. ‘No, it’s too much, no, you can’t, no, no!’ Afterwards he had felt sickening remorse, but could not ring her back since Harvey had no telephone and anyway what ‘apology’ could be offered short of telling her yes, of course, she must come and stay at once! The idea, which also occurred to him, that he might take in Harvey instead, was of course equally out of the question. It would be an affront to Joan; and in any case Clement had developed curious feelings about Harvey, perhaps guilt, perhaps even jealousy. But all this was mad. Thank heaven Aleph would not be at this party. Oh poor Joan, had he now made her his enemy forever? And this morning, when his agent had telephoned him, mentioning an interesting part in a new play to be put on in Glasgow, but likely to reach the West End, and he had refused, his agent had said that unless he did something very soon he would be totally forgotten.

  Peter’s house was indeed ‘lit up’. By now nearly all the guests had arrived, complaining of the cold (snow was forecast) and basking in the huge warm shell of space and light. Drinks were swiftly placed in every hand. Peter, in the drawing-room, had greeted those he knew and been introduced to those he did not. Bellamy had already explained to him that Lucas never answered invitations and never went to parties. Peter also introduced everyone to Mrs Callow the cook (old retainer), Patsie (Mrs Callow’s niece) and Kenneth Rathbone, landlord of The Castle (evidently old friend and already known to Bellamy). The guests were encouraged to ‘stroll about everywhere’, and some, not all, eagerly did so, penetrating, on all three floors, drawing-room, library, study, dining-room, kitchen, scullery, empty rooms, garden rooms, cloakrooms, bedrooms, bathrooms, dressing-rooms, laundry rooms, boxrooms, and what Joan called ‘ambiguous boudoirs’. All the doors stood open. Clement’s anxiety about ‘eating standing up’ was soon dissipated by a glance into the dining-room set for a sit-down dinner, and his other anxiety about not getting enough to drink was removed by the sight of a large table at the far end of the hall where a crowd of drinks, including a recommended ‘special’, were continually replenished for the strollers. Sausages and cheese biscuits and other dainties were also available in large bowls placed here and there. Clement kept on amazing himself by noticing how totally the house had changed since his last visit: another metamorphosis. Peter too, dressed in a very dark suit and a luxuriant green silk cravat, was smiling, moving about with happy ease among his guests, even wandering
after them up the grand staircase. Clement also noticed, and mentioned to Bellamy, that their host, gracefully opening his hand and then raising it, was touching all the people with whom he conversed. ‘I suppose he is blessing us all,’ Clement said. ‘He patted me. Now he can hardly take his hands off Emil.’ Bellamy, beaming with pleasure, replied, ‘Accept his blessing. He will do us all good. Can you not feel a kind of warm enlivening force?’ ‘Yes,’ said Clement, ‘but I am afraid it is that “special”. I wonder what’s in it.’

  Moy and Sefton had decided after a brief conference, to wear their necklaces. They did not consult their mother. As Sefton pointed out, this was their first opportunity to thank the donor, to whom they could then explain that they would have written ‘thank you’ letters only they did not know his address. On the other hand, would the donor be embarrassed if, wearing the necklaces, they thanked him publicly? Perhaps he would not want anyone to know he had given them such expensive presents, perhaps indeed, as Sefton surmised, he had simply wanted to give something to Aleph, and had included them only out of politeness? As it happened, the Clifton contingent arriving first, and being let in by Patsie who told them where to put their coats, had been welcomed profusely by Peter, who exclaimed at the necklaces, touched them, and said how well they suited their owners, and that he had chosen them with care. He seemed to be about to kiss Louise, but instead held her hand in both of his and squeezed it for some time. He said, ‘How sad about Aleph, I mean about her not being able to come, it is sad for me.’ ‘Well, indeed,’ said Louise, and withdrew her hand. Emil then arrived and was introduced. Later in the evening Louise glimpsed Peter and Emil sitting together, deep in conversation in the library. Moy and Sefton had wandered away by themselves. Moy was wearing one of her long shifts, an auburn one, round-necked, upon which to show off her lapis lazuli. She had considered putting her hair up, but decided not to. It did not always stay up. Her thick blonde plait hung down to her waist. She seemed to have become a little taller and a little slimmer. Sefton was wearing a long dark green skirt, pulled firmly in at the waist, with a white blouse and a very old black velvet jacket. She nervously fingered the amber necklace, which tended to hang down invisibly inside the jacket. Her uneven reddish-brown hair was, quite by accident as she had just washed it, more orderly, fluffy, less jagged, more like a halo. She looked about her sternly, even aggressively, her mouth compressed, as if she were searching for someone, which she was not.

  Clement, abandoning Bellamy who was following Peter around, set out to look for Joan, whom he had seen in the distance talking to Cora Brock. He found them still together. Cora, the only one wearing an ankle-length skirt, was a rich handsome woman of fifty, certainly eccentric and brusque, but secretly generous and yearning for friendship. She put on a bluff chatterbox manner to conceal her shyness. She was still mourning for her husband, Isaac Brock, who had died ten years ago. She was childless.

  ‘Hello Clement, I hear you have given up the theatre.’

  ‘No, Cora, the theatre has given me up.’

  ‘Well, it is a miserable profession. You know, this Peter Mir is attractive, you misled me, Joanie. I am looking forward to my turn to talk to him. Yet he is a bit like a schoolmaster too, don’t you think? And his eyes, his eyes, those dark murky eyes, and they are quite bulging, surely he is something of a fanatic. Joan says he is religious and I am not surprised. Isn’t he Jewish? He looks Jewish. I believe he is. That’s good. Look how kind and attentive he is to everyone, though a little fussy too, don’t you think? I’m sure you wonder how he knew that I existed, I thought Joan might have mentioned me, but, no, it seems that he asked Bellamy to gather in a few other members of our circle. I didn’t know I belonged to a circle, but evidently I do. As Joan puts it, he just wants to enlarge his acquaintance in our milieu. Well, I won’t argue with that. I gather he is a psychoanalyst, one can always do with one of those. Someone said he was just coming back to this house and that’s what the party’s for, perhaps he’s been letting it at some phenomenal rent. You know, I let my house last year, only it wasn’t worth it because the people were so awful, one has to be careful. I take it dinner is to be late, I didn’t realise there was dinner. I asked little Patsie, such a charming girl, and how pretty those two younger Andersons have become, of course Aleph is dazzling, and when she is present nothing else can be seen, but those two are not at all bad-looking, Moy’s plait is quite a work of art, but why doesn’t she set her lovely hair free, like other girls do nowadays, whatever will happen to Moy I wonder, is she as daft as ever? And talk of daft, isn’t Tessa Millen coming I’m told, I haven’t seen her for ages.’ As Cora continued Clement was trying to catch Joan’s eye, but Joan kept on looking at Cora with an amused indulgent smile. Clement gave up and went to collect some more ‘special’, where he saw Emil talking to Bellamy. They waved to Clement and almost at once moved away still talking. Clement realised he was drunk and sat down on a chair in the hall.

  Emil said to Bellamy as they ascended the stairs, ‘The noise down there is dreadful. But fortunately this house is crammed with rooms. Let us sit in here, I imagine it is a servant’s bedroom, no, Bellamy, not on the bed. Here are two chairs, draw yours over. I want to give you a lecture. But first of all let me say how impressed I am by your Peter Mir. He can have a serious conversation instantly and then proceed at once to chat. He is good-looking too, a spiritual man I should say. Of course such a man could not be a criminal or a thief, he has taken it all very well, and he looks the picture of health, God be thanked. Such a pity Lucas is not here, but there, we know what Lucas is like! But is not this an odd sort of evening, why are we, who all know one another, the guests, has he no other friends? Perhaps he has quarrelled with his friends and decided to collect some new ones, why not! And his library, have you seen it? I had a quick look, there seem to be no medical books, or scientific books unless you count books on agriculture, perhaps as he is so rich he has somewhere a toy farm? There are also some Russian books, my Russian is poor, but I see Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, Turgenev, Pushkin, in fine old editions, he is of course a cultured man – but otherwise in English, detective stories, Conan Doyle, Thomas Hardy, Kipling. Well, I had only a glance, and no doubt he keeps his medical textbooks at his consulting rooms. Or perhaps this is his consulting rooms. Or perhaps this is only one of his many houses! But now I must lecture you. I have been hearing about you, living in the cold room in the East End and visiting that monastery.’

  ‘I haven’t been to the monastery lately.’

  ‘But you plan to go, you hope to go, I tell you not to. It is not for you. Experto crede. I had such thoughts when I was young. That path is for very few. Most tragic of all are those who are silent prisoners of an asceticism which for them is pure hell. Thus whole lives can rot away. Indeed, Bellamy, it is a way to hell, believe me, for such as you it is. You have a warm heart, you must work in the open with people, aid them as you used to do, be with ordinary men. I think that deeply you see this and believe it, you need only someone to shake you, to beat you a little, to pull you out of that miserable dark dead end. You are a romantic, you must follow your heart. Come back to your flat – ’

  ‘I have sold my flat.’

  ‘Then come and stay with me. Be brave and make the break. Come to me, and recover.’

  Clement had at last cornered Joan, running after her up the stairs and pursuing her along the landing. They paused.

  ‘Joan, I’m so sorry, forgive me – ’

  ‘What for? You’re drunk.’

  ‘About on the telephone – I was awful – it’s just that I can’t bear it – I just couldn’t – I must be alone – ’

  ‘You are afraid of being alone with me.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. No, it’s not just that. I can’t stand anyone. Please forgive me, you do, don’t you, I’m just Clement, your old friend.’

  Joan said, ‘Let’s go in here. Why are all the doors open?’

  ‘Our host wants to prove he has nothing to hide.’


  ‘Well, let’s close this door.’

  They went into a small room filled with cupboards, evidently a dressing-room. Joan closed the door. Clement hugged her.

  ‘Harlequin, will you marry me?’

  Clement, not expecting this question, released her. He answered instantly, ‘No, I can’t, I won’t, I mean it won’t do, I’m very sorry – ’

  ‘But why – is it because you think I belong to someone else? I don’t, I swear I don’t!’

  ‘No, I don’t think, I don’t think anything about you, I – ’

  ‘Don’t say that. You do think about me, you do love me, I know it. I’m still Circe, you are Harlequin. It’s still like that – oh let that be – let it be forever – remember Vercingetorix – ’