by Iris Murdoch
As Bellamy put down the last letter (they were only roughly in chronological order) he found tears in his eyes, and lifted his hands to dry them. He sighed a long deep sigh. He thought, surely some day I will go to him and I shall bow down to the ground before him in the Russian manner. Only, alas, I would not find him, and I must not find him, he told me to expect, or indeed seek, no signal, and I must think of him as vanished utterly and gone forever. Now he is just Mr Damien Butler and I shall never see him again. I wonder if he has some other name and has already become Mr John Butler or Mr Stanley Butler. How agonising it must be for a priest to give up all that magic power – magic, yes, he feared it, power over souls. If he despaired, what must I do? Does he not tell me? Not to seek solitude, to go out and help my neighbour. I suppose I shall do that. The drama is over – why do I call it a drama – he would understand, he has been through it all, and he has learnt therein things which I shall never know. And he thought, finding it suddenly the most terrible of those sayings: the way of brokenness. And he thought sorrowfully of his parting from his dear mentor, and the last words with which he had left him, the parting words of Virgil, your will is free, upright and sound, it would be wrong not to be ruled by its good sense. Have I got a sound upright will, Bellamy wondered. I’m not sure that I have. Indeed I am sure that I have not. Anyway, Dante was not setting off alone into the wilderness, he was going on into the magnetic region of the Divine. And what was that stuff about crowns and mitres? I’ll ask Emil about it, he knows everything, and I’ll ask him about my will too. And as he thought this Bellamy felt a sudden surge, as of a warm wind, a breath of warm air. He thought, yes it is true, I love Emil, and Emil loves me, I shall get that job helping people, and we shall live together and stay together.
Bellamy had been vaguely aware for some time that Anax was restless. He had lifted his long muzzle and now was whining slightly, then as Bellamy gave him his attention he jumped off the bed and ran to the door. It’s past his walk time, thought Bellamy, besides I want to be outside breathing the fresh air, I have found new thoughts. He put on his overcoat and scarf and his woollen cap which Clement derided, and went downstairs following Anax’s rush. As he opened the front door admitting the cold wind the dog began to run, running up toward the little headland – they called it a headland but it was really a hillock – which divided the house from the next bay. Bellamy called ‘Anax, wait!’, but the wind blew his voice away. He hurried on after the dog, who by now had disappeared. A few minutes later, as he hurried on, he could hear Anax barking; it was Anax’s hysterical bark. What could be the matter?
Moy picked up the bag. It was not empty, it contained something else which she had forgotten. She drew it out, a long yellowish snake, her plait of hair. It had already lost its sheen, its light, its life, it was a dead thing. Moy advanced toward the sea, as she did so pulling the elastic band off the end of the plait. She put the elastic band in the pocket of her coat. The mild weather had departed, an east wind was blowing, at the horizon a continuous wall of cloud was moving steadily along, joining the sky and the sea. Nearer, overhead, the sky was a pale pregnant spongy grey. Moy was wearing her winter overcoat with a woollen scarf, stout boots, warm trousers, and a mackintosh hood over her, as she felt it, shaven head. She stepped carefully over the band of seaweed onto a stretch of pebbly sand. She noticed stones, wet and shining. She came down to the edge of the sea, stepping into the strong running foam. The sea now seemed to be above her, a ragged wall of grey sliding curves and boiling white crests. A cold light as of its own making hung over the sea, a mist of instantly dissolving spray caught by some dull gleam from the rain-filled sky above. Not far out now, the tall waves were breaking with a ferocious booming sound, smashing themselves into the curling racing waters which rushed forward and as wildly receded. Moy took a firm hold of the thinner end of the rope of hair, and whirling it, hurled it with all her strength out toward the great heads of the breakers where it vanished instantly. She thought, I can’t throw it very far, the tide will bring it in again, it will look like seaweed, and anyway I – anyway – I –
Moy’s terrible secret sorrow which she had told to no one was this. She was not, she never had been, the least bit in love with Clement. She was very fond of Clement. But she was, and had always been, desperately in love with Harvey. An early joke about her being ‘keen on Clement’ enabled her to hide her dreadful love and her dreadful hope. She had counted the days and the weeks and the years until she should be old enough to tell her love. She had watched him, she had studied him, she had imagined, she had pictured it a thousand times, how she would reveal it to him. She had looked into the mirror, trying to see herself through his eyes. She had felt desperation, then increasing hope, then new fears, then new hopes. She had not imagined that he would marry Aleph. Indeed, she was glad of his friendship with Aleph since it removed him from other temptations, reserved him, she now so often felt, for her. Beyond her declaration of love she could not see. But as she rehearsed the intensity of her passion she thought that he must, when the time came, respond. The desire to, at the right time, tell him became, as the years moved forward toward that time, increasingly painful, like a poisoned wound that must heal itself by breaking open. She now thought in anguish of the times, the recent times, when she could have told him, and had been afraid to, and had clumsily withdrawn, when she could have attracted him and drawn his attention to her. When she had watched over him when he was sleeping in the sedan-chair and could have wakened him with a kiss. If only she had let him know, then she could more easily have borne his not preferring her. He was ready to fall in love – and if he had known – he must have loved her – if he had known how much she loved him. The pain of this loss burnt her in every waking moment, that awful ‘if only’. She had lost him, and lost him through her own fault. There were no more pleasures now in life, her stones knew it, they were dead. She moved forward into the swirling water.
Then she saw them. She thought, but people are swimming in the wild sea, many people, many faces turned towards her, big eyes gazing at her. Then she realised – it’s the silkies, they have come for me – my people have come for me at last. She took off her overcoat and threw it behind her. She plunged forward, stumbling in the high violent breaking waves. As she fell she heard the distant sound of Anax barking.
When Bellamy reached the top of the slope and looked down into the next bay he saw Anax on the beach, right up against the breaking waves, rushing in toward the waves, then running back again, continuing to bark hysterically. Whatever is it? Then Bellamy saw the seals. The little bay was full of seals, their wet grey doggy heads bobbing in the wild-crested waters, just a little beyond where the huge waves were breaking. He thought, how wonderful, the seals are here, they are back, I thought they had gone forever, and so many I can’t even count them! No wonder Anax is excited! He slackened his pace, striding down the hill through the thick wet grass. He thought, I must stop Anax from barking, he’ll frighten them, he never barked at them before. He called out, ‘Anax!’ fruitlessly into the wind. Then he saw something else. Something like a human person was in the sea too, in the chaos of the breakers, no, now beyond them, overwhelmed by the huge waves, disappearing from view. At that moment Anax rushed forward and leapt his high leap over the top of the next breaking wave – and he too vanished. Bellamy ran, crying out, stumbling down the steep way, through old dead bracken and gorse bushes, hearing himself gasp and moan as he ran, then over the cropped grass onto the stones, the big wet stones shifting under his boots, clambering over the rocks, then over the slippery seaweed onto the sand which was strewn with smaller stones. He stopped, panting, hearing now the deafening cracking sound of the breaking waves, seeing nothing except the chaos of waters ahead. He threw off his encumbering overcoat and crossed the sand and entered the sea, stepping awkwardly, clumsily, concentrating on continuing to stand up. Water came pouring into his boots, he was walking upon sand, stopping at every step as he advanced, meeting the repeated violent
blows of the breaking waves, hearing himself calling, crying out into the tearing wind, his mouth filling with sea water. There was no question of swimming, if he lost his balance he would drown. He concentrated on standing, then beginning to retreat as he felt then the strong fierce receding water clawing away the sand from under his feet. He knew of nothing now but survival, not losing his balance, not being able to walk – then his legs gave way and his arms were without force and the sea took him and he saw above him the inner hollow of the tall wave breaking over him and he saw its dome of translucent green light as he fell backwards under it, choking with water, experiencing death. The next moment he found he was still alive, scrabbling in the ferocious undertow. He saw something near him, something round, something dark, tumbling for a moment in the boiling foam which awaited the next wave. He reached out towards it, taking hold of something, a sleeve then an arm, he tried to find his legs again, then found, as the water struck his back, that he was kneeling in the sand. He crawled frenziedly, still holding on to the human arm, then managed to rise to his feet. As he recalled it later, that rising was like to a resurrection, perhaps what the risen dead would feel at the end of the world. He advanced, pulling the child, for that was what he had realised it was, behind him like a heavy sack, dragging it up the slope out of the violent beating waves, out of the power of the sea. And he thought, as he remembered, even then, Anax has drowned trying to save a child, and tears came into his eyes, and he felt their warmth upon his cold cheeks. He sat down upon the wet sand with the thing beside him, and thought, for he imagined the child must be a boy, and he’s dead too. He tried to command his breath and to remember what one is supposed to do when someone is drowned, get the water out of their lungs, then breathe into their mouth, or something. He was still crying and sobbing as he sat up, then knelt to see what could be done. At that moment Moy moved and uttered a faint groan, then opened her eyes, and Bellamy recognised her. She was breathing. He stood up and looked back at the sea. There was no sign of Anax. Bellamy uttered a terrible cry of anguish which the wind tore away, blowing it away with the wind-swept seagulls and their stormy shrieks. Then he saw a long grey form crawling out of the chaotic foam and the wildly running shallows and onto the beach, then standing up and shaking itself. He knelt down again beside Moy. She was panting and trying to sit up, he lifted her a little and supported her against his knee.
‘Moy, Moy – ’
She kept shuddering and murmuring and uttering little soft sounds and breathing deeply and choking and gasping, then, she whispered, ‘I’m sorry.’ Bellamy felt something warm. It was Anax’s warm tongue licking his hand.
‘You must get up and walk!’ He pulled Moy to her feet. Then he saw, further on toward the land, his overcoat and Moy’s overcoat lying near to each other on the sand, and he thought, thank heavens the tide is going out, and the weather has changed too. The wind had dropped and there was more brightness in the sky, and he thought, that was the light which I saw when I was under the dome of the wave. Leaning upon him, Moy began to walk.
‘Come on, Moy, we must get you home quickly. Whatever possessed you to go swimming!’
He did not expect her to answer, but she said. ‘It was the seals, I had to – ’ then she said, ‘It’s so strange, the water was warm.’
‘Not for me! Look, here are our coats, and they are dry!’ It was difficult to get the coats on over their wet sticky garments. He helped her on with hers, then donned his. ‘We must hurry now, thank heavens I arrived in time, it was Anax barking, he really rescued you. Where is he – oh look at him!’
Anax, running ahead of them, had climbed up onto the flat-topped rock where Moy had left the conical lichen stone. He was sitting in profile, his front paws extended, beside the stone, looking at it. ‘Look, Moy, he’s just like something out of ancient Egypt!’
Moy looked. She stared at Anax and at the conical stone. She looked between them, looking at the hillside beyond, and she saw the place. It was not far away, it was quite near after all, not distant as she had imagined. ‘Bellamy, sorry, there’s something I’ve got to do.’
Leaving hold of him she ran away with amazing swiftness, reached the rocks and clambered up. She seized the stone.
‘What – ? Moy!’
But already she was running away toward the grassy slope and the meadow beyond.
‘Moy, wait! Anax!’
She ran on upward through the longer grass, stumbling but never falling, and Anax ran after her, then passing her ran before her. Bellamy, exhausted, blundered on behind.
As soon as Moy had touched the stone she felt her body become warm and agile, she could run and keep running, the stone seemed weightless, she followed Anax. Breathless at last she slowed down. Yes, she recognised the particular formation of the land, the shape of the hill, the thicker grass, the dip beyond into the little dell. Anax had already run over the grassy edge and into the dell. Moy followed him, hugging the stone. Yes, there was the rock, rising high, high out of the grass, a smooth grey pyramid, criss-crossed with hieroglyphics, quite unlike the rocks of the sea, unique, solitary, sacred. Holding the stone, leaning against the rock, Moy sat down in the damp grass. But where had the stone been in relation to the rock, where had its place been? She said, bending over the stone, hugging it against her breast, ‘Seek, Anax, seek!’ Anax was already sniffing about. Then he began to dig in the grass at the side of the dell. Moy rose and went to him. Beneath the grass there was a hole. She looked back at the rock. Yes, that was where it had been, where they could see each other. Anax moved aside. Moy lowered the stone into the hole. It fitted exactly. Moy felt something snap inside her as if her heart had snapped. The heart-string, she thought – what is the heart-string? Tears came into her eyes. She touched the stone, pressing it firmly into its hole. Kneeling, she kissed it. Then she hurried to the rock and kissed it. Then, after caressing the mysterious messages of its crisscross cracks, not looking back, she ran quickly out of the dell and onto the open hillside. Anax was frisking wildly beside her. Bellamy was half way up the hill.
‘Moy, whatever are you up to? Do you want us to die of exposure? You must come back to the house at once, you must be freezing cold, we must have hot baths, Anax must be cold too, we must hurry back – !’
They began to walk briskly down to the path, at the horizon the sun was shining on the sea, they were talking, chattering and smiling at each other, the words tumbling out of their mouths.
‘They’ll be cross with us!’
‘They’ll be cross with me!’
‘No, with me!’
Think of those hot baths, thank heavens there are two bathrooms!’
‘And Anax can lie by the fire.’
‘We’ll light fires in all the rooms, it’s time to do it now.’
‘That will help us dry our clothes.’
‘It’s good that we left our coats behind!’
‘We didn’t have much time to reflect, anyway I didn’t! But why did you go in at all?’
‘It was just – the seals – ’
‘You are absolutely daft, but never mind, we can talk about this later – well, it’s such an adventure we shall talk about it forever!’
‘I feel warm now, do you?’
‘Well, warmish. I’m glad that wind has given up. But get a move on, after your bath you must go to bed, you must be suffering from shock.’
‘I’m not, not a bit.’
‘Well, I am. It’s wonderful that the seals are back. I expect they came to say hello to you.’
‘Well – yes – I think – they did – ’
Bellamy thought, what’s happened, something’s happened – I’m afraid she will collapse when she gets back, such an extraordinary girl, and I shall probably collapse too, but not for long, perhaps it’s reading all those letters, no, of course not, Moy and the seals, and how on earth did Anax know, and what were they doing up there on that hill, well, I won’t tell about that, how brave she is, I’ve got so much to do, I’ll find that job he s
poke of, and yes he was right about happiness, don’t be miserable thinking you can’t be perfect, isn’t the Bhagavad Gita about that, living above one’s moral station, I must ask Emil, and there was something about the presence of Christ not fading, I’ll look after Moy, and Emil will help her to get into an art school, perhaps we could adopt her, or sort of –
‘Bellamy, thank you so much – ’
‘Don’t worry. You made the seals come. I wonder if they saw the seals. Emil is coming in a day or two, you like Emil, don’t you?’
‘Oh yes, I love Emil.’
‘We’ll get you into an art school, I mean you’ll get yourself into an art school – ’
‘Yes, I shall get started here, and then – ’
‘And then what?’