The Black Prince

by Iris Murdoch

  ‘Oh look, what luck, I could wear your socks. It’s so warm, I don’t wonder you took them off. May I, would you mind?’

  ‘Of course you can – they were clean this morning – but they’re not exactly – ’

  ‘Oh nonsense, that really is conventional, not like not liking bare feet. Oh Bradley, I do want those boots, but it’s such a lot of money. Suppose I were to pay you back when I – ’

  ‘No. Stop arguing. Here are the socks.’

  She put them on immediately, balancing on each foot and holding on to my sleeve. We went into the shop.

  It was cool and dim inside. Not at all like the nightmare shop that haunted my sister and myself; and not at all like the remembered interior of the womb either. More like the temple of some old unpassionate rather ascetic cult. The tiers of white containers (perhaps containing relics or votive gifts), the quiet darkly clad acolytes, the lowered voices, the rows of seats for meditation, the oddly shaped stools. The shoe horns.

  We sat down side by side and Julian asked for her size. The black – clad girl began to ease the purple boot on over Julian’s foot and my grey nylon sock. The high boot enveloped her leg and the zip fastener moved smoothly upward.

  ‘It fits beautifully. May I try the other?’ The other boot slid on.

  Julian stood in front of the mirror and I looked at her reflection. The boots looked stunning on her. Above the knee there was a piece of bare thigh, only faintly brown, and then the blue and green and white striped hem of her brief dress.

  Julian’s delight was literally indescribable. Her face dissolved and glowed, she quite unconsciously clapped her hands, she rushed back to me and shook me by the shoulders and then rushed back to the mirror. Her innocent pleasure would have moved me very much upon a better occasion. Why had I thought of her as an image of vanity? This delight of the young animal in itself was something pure. I could not help smiling.

  ‘Bradley, you do like them, they don’t look absurd?’

  ‘They look smashing.’

  ‘I’m so pleased, oh you are so sweet – Thank you so much!’

  ‘Thank you. Present – giving is a form of self – indulgence.’ I asked for the bill.

  Julian, exclaiming, began to pull off the boots. Then, still wearing my socks which she had rolled down to the ankles, and gloating over her prize, she crossed one leg over the other. As I looked at the purple boots lying on the floor, and then at Julian’s feet and her legs, slightly browner below the knee and lightly furred with auburn hair, something very unexpected and extraordinary happened. The experience which I had sought in vain when I was holding Rachel naked in my arms came to me suddenly with a pang and a flurry : physical desire with its absurd, alarming, unmistakable symptoms, the anti – gravitational aspiration of the male organ, one of the oddest and most unnerving things in nature. I felt an embarrassment so intense that it transcended the concept altogether. I also felt a ridiculous un – classifiable sort of glee. At the same time, the simple pleasure which I might have had in buying the child a present was somehow released and for a moment I felt happy. I lifted my eyes. Julian was beaming her gratitude at me. I laughed, because of the physical sensation which her legs had inspired, and because she knew nothing about it. To conceal our transports may be painful sometimes, but it is also a privilege and may have its funny side. I laughed, and Julian in childish delight over her boots, laughed back.

  ‘No, I won’t wear them, it’s too hot,’ Julian was explaining to the sales girl. ‘Bradley, you are an angel. May I come and see you soon and we’ll talk about Shakespeare? I’m free any time – Monday, Tuesday – how about Tuesday morning at your place at eleven? Or whenever you like?’

  ‘All right, all right.’

  ‘And we’ll talk seriously and look at the text in detail?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’

  ‘Oh I am so pleased with the boots.’

  When we parted company at the station and I looked into those purely coloured blue eyes I could not bring myself to dim her joy by asking her to lie, even though I had by then thought of a fairly ingenious cock and bull story.

  It was not until later that I remembered that she had gone away still wearing my socks.

  Somehow or other it was twelve noon. Returning eastward to my flat I felt a good deal more sober, and I soon regretted my ‘high – minded’ failure to silence Julian. Out of some ridiculous sense of dignity I had failed to take an absolutely essential precaution. When Julian blurted out about meeting me, what would Arnold guess, what would Rachel devise, what would she confess? Trying, and failing, to get the problem into focus I felt a guilty excited painful feeling not unlike sexual desire. Julian must be home by now. What was happening? Perhaps nothing. I felt an intense need to telephone Rachel at once, but knew that this would be profitless. ‘Knowing the worst’ would have to wait a while.

  I had left Charlotte Street about nine – thirty. Now, with a sudden distressed anxiety about Priscilla, I let myself into the flat, and knew at once that something odd had happened. The door of Priscilla’s room was wide open. I rushed in. Priscilla was gone. Christian was lying on the bed reading a detective story.

  ‘Where’s Priscilla?’

  ‘Don’t take on, Brad. She’s back at my place.’

  Christian had taken off her shoes, which were lying on the bed. Her trim pearly – silk legs were neatly crossed. Legs are ageless.

  ‘How dare you interfere!’

  ‘I didn’t, I just came to visit her, and she was so tearful and low and saying you were going to go away and leave her, so I said “Why not come back to me”, and she said she wanted to, so I sent her and Francis off in a taxi.’

  ‘My sister is not a sort of ping pong ball.’

  ‘Don’t be so cross, Brad. Now you can go away with a clear conscience.’

  ‘I don’t want to go away.’

  ‘Well, Priscilla thought you did.’

  ‘I’m going right away now to fetch her back.’

  ‘Brad, don’t be silly. It’s far better for her to be at Notting Hill. I’ve asked a doctor to see her this afternoon. Do leave her in peace for a bit.’

  ‘Did Arnold come to you this morning?’

  ‘He came to see me. Why do you say “come to you” in that meaningful way? He was very upset by your spiteful review. Why ever did you send it to him? Why cause pain just like that? You wouldn’t like it if someone did it to you.’

  ‘Did he come to cry on your shoulder?’

  ‘No. He came to discuss a business project.’

  ‘Business?’

  ‘Yes. We’re going into business together. I have a lot of spare money, so has he. I didn’t spend all my time in Illinois at the Ladies’ Guild. I helped Evans run his business. At the end I ran his business. I’m not going to idle around over here. I’m going into lingerie. And Arnold is going with me.’

  ‘Why did you never tell me you were Jewish?’

  ‘You were never interested enough to find out.’

  ‘So you and Arnold are going to make money together. Has it occurred to you to wonder how Rachel might feel?’

  ‘I’m not after Arnold. And I should have thought you were in rather a weak position to criticize people for being after people.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Aren’t you after Rachel?’

  ‘What makes you imagine that?’

  ‘Rachel told Arnold you were.’

  ‘Rachel told Arnold I was after her?’

  ‘Yes. They had a good laugh together.’

  ‘You’re lying,’ I said. I left the room. Christian called after me, ‘Brad, let’s be friends, please.’

  I had reached the front door with some general intention of going to fetch Priscilla and with a more immediate need to get away from Christian when the bell rang. I opened the door at once and there was Arnold.

  He gave a well – prepared smile, apologetic, ironical, rueful.

  I said, ‘Your business partner is here.’

 
; ‘So she told you?’

  ‘Yes. You’re going into lingerie. Come in.’

  ‘Hello, honey,’ said Christian behind me, welcoming Arnold. They trooped into the sitting – room, and after a moment’s hesitation I followed them. Christian, who was still putting her shoes on, was wearing a handsome cotton dress of an exceptionally vivid shade of green. Of course I could see now that she was Jewish: that curvy clever mouth, that wily rounded off nose, those veiled snaky eyes. She was as handsome as her dress, a queen in Israel.

  I said to Arnold, ‘Did you know that she was Jewish?’

  ‘Who? Christian? Of course. I found it out on our first meeting.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I asked.’

  ‘Brad thinks we’re having some sort of romance,’ said Christian.

  ‘Look,’ said Arnold, ‘there’s nothing between Chris and me except friendship. You’ve heard of that, haven’t you?’

  ‘It can’t exist between a man and a woman,’ I said. I had only just, with sudden clairvoyance, realized this for certain.

  ‘It can if they’re intelligent enough,’ said Christian.

  ‘Married people can’t have friendships,’ I said. ‘If they do, they’re faithless.’

  ‘Don’t worry about Rachel,’ said Arnold.

  ‘But I do, oddly enough. I felt very worried about her when I saw her the other day with a black eye you’d given her.’

  ‘I didn’t give her the black eye. It was accidental. I explained to you.’

  ‘Before we continue,’ I said, ‘could you ask your business partner, who has just kidnapped my sister for the second time, to go away, please?’

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Christian, ‘but let me just make a little speech before I do. Gee, I’m sorry about all this. But honestly, Brad, you’re living in a dream world. I was very emotionally disturbed when I got back here and I came straight to you. Some men would have been flattered. I may be over fifty but I’m not a has – been. I got three proposals of marriage on the boat, and all from people who didn’t know I was rich. Anyway, what’s wrong with being rich? It’s a quality, it’s attractive. Rich people are nicer, they’re less nervy. I’m quite a proposition. And I came to you. As it happened I met Arnold and we talked and he asked a lot of questions, he was interested. That makes people friends and we are friends. But we haven’t started up a love affair. Why should we? We’re too intelligent. I’m not a little girl in a mini – skirt looking for kicks. I’m a damned clever woman who wants to have fun for the rest of her life, real fun, and happiness, not just emotional messes. I guess I can see into my motivation by now. I was years in deep analysis back in Illinois. I want friendships with men. I want to help people. Do you know that helping people is the way to be happy? And I’m curious. I want to know lots of people and see what makes them tick. I’m not going to get stuck in any hole and corner dramas. I’m going to live in the open. And right out in the open is where Arnold and I have been. You just haven’t understood. I want to be friends with you, Brad. I want us to redeem the past by our friendship, like sort of redemptive love – ’

  I groaned.

  ‘Don’t mock me, I’m trying, I know I may seem ridiculous – ’

  ‘Not in the least,’ I said.

  ‘Women my age can easily look damn silly when they’re being really serious, but in a way, because we’ve less to lose, we can be wiser too. And because we’re women it’s our part to sort of help people and spread a bit of warmth and caring around the place. I’m not trying to capture you or corner you or anything, I just want us to get to know each other again and maybe like each other. I had a damn lot of misery out there in Illinois, growing apart from poor old Evans and remembering how much you got to resent me and thought I was always getting at you, and maybe I was, I’m not defending myself. Only I’m a little wiser now and hopefully I’m a better person maybe. Why don’t you and me get together and talk about the old days, talk about our marriage – ’

  ‘Which, I gather, you’ve already discussed with Arnold.’

  ‘Well why not, naturally he was interested, and I was truthful. It’s not a sacred subject, why shouldn’t I talk about it. I guess you and I ought to try to be honest with each other and talk it all out of our systems. I know it would do me a power of good. Say, have you ever been analysed?’

  ‘Analysed!! Certainly not!!’

  ‘Well, don’t be too sure it would be a waste of time. You seem pretty snarled up to me.’

  ‘Ask your friend to go, would you?’ I said to Arnold. He smiled.

  ‘I’m going, I’m going, Brad. Look, don’t answer me now, but think about this. I do beg you most humbly, and I mean humbly, to talk to me sometime soon, to talk properly, talk about the past, talk about what went wrong, and do it not because it will help you but because it will help me. That’s all. Think it over. See you.’

  She made for the door. I said, ‘Wait a minute. To someone who has spent years in deep analysis this may seem crude, but I simply do not like you and I do not want to see you.’

  ‘I know you’re sort of scared – ’

  ‘I am not scared. I just happen to detest you. You are the sort of insinuating power – mongering woman that I detest. I cannot forgive you and I do not want to see you.’

  ‘I guess this sort of classical love – hate – ’

  ‘Not love. Just hate. Be honest enough to see that, since you’re so intelligent. And another thing. When I have had my little talk with Arnold I am coming over to fetch my sister, and after that any connection between you and me ceases.’

  ‘Look, Brad, there’s something more I want to say after all. I guess I see into your motivation – ’

  ‘Get out. Or do you want me to resort to violence?’

  She laughed a red – tongued white – toothed laugh, merrily. ‘Oh – ho, what would that mean, I wonder? You’d better watch it, I learnt Karate at the Ladies’ Guild. Well, I’m off. But think over what I said. Why choose hatred? Why not choose happiness and doing a little good to each other for a change? All right, all right, I’m off, cheery – bye.’

  She clacked out and I could hear her laughing as she pulled the front door to behind her.

  I turned on Arnold, ‘I don’t know what you think that Rachel – ’

  ‘Bradley, I didn’t hit Rachel purposely, I know it was my fault, but it was accidental. Do you believe me?’

  ‘No.’ The feeling of sheer loving pity for Rachel came back to me, no nonsense about legs, just pity, pity.

  ‘Wait a bit, wait a bit. Rachel’s all right. It’s you who’s getting all steamed up about me and Christian. Of course you naturally feel possessive about Christian – ’

  ‘I do not!’

  ‘But there’s really and truly nothing there except friendship. Rachel understands that now. You’re the one who has invented this myth about me and your ex – wife. And you seem to be using it as an excuse for pestering Rachel in a way I might resent if I were more old – fashioned. Fortunately Rachel has a sense of humour about it. She told me how you came round this morning, accusing me and all ready to comfort her! Of course 1 know, we all know, that you’re keen on Rachel. Your being so has been an aspect of our friendship. You were keen on both of us. And don’t misunderstand me, Rachel hasn’t just regarded this as a joke, she’s been very touched. Any woman likes a suitor. But when you start pestering her with attentions and suggesting I’m unfaithful at the same time it becomes something that she rightly won’t put up with. I don’t know whether you really think that Chris and I are lovers, or whether you pretend to Rachel that you think it. But she certainly doesn’t believe anything of the sort.’

  Arnold was sitting with his legs straight out in front of him, balancing on the heels. A characteristic pose. His face wore the affectionate quizzical ironical expression which I had once liked so much.

  I said, ‘Let’s have a drink.’ I went to the walnut hanging cupboard.

  It had not occured to me that Rachel might defend herself by
sacrificing me. I had imagined, in the event of a revelation, a flaming row, mutual accusations, Rachel in tears. Or rather, to be more honest, I had not imagined anything in detail. When we do ill we anaesthetize our imagination. Doubtless this is, for most people, a prerequisite of doing ill, and indeed a part of it. I thought there would be trouble and I appeared on the evidence to have been so resigned to it that I had not even bothered to tell Julian a tale, or simplest of all, deny that I had been to the house. (‘I was going to call, but suddenly I felt sick’: anything would have been better than nothing.) But what the trouble would amount to my vision had shied from. So they always act, who prowl upon the confines of marriages, unconcerned with the real quality of the dramas enacted behind that mysterious and sacred barrier.

  I should of course have been, and in a way I was, relieved that the thing had been done so quietly. But I was also upset and annoyed and felt an impulse to shatter Arnold’s complacency by showing him Rachel’s letter. The letter was in fact lying on the Pembroke table, where I could even see the corner of the envelope protruding from under some papers. Naturally such treachery was not to be seriously envisaged. It is the woman’s privilege to save herself at the man’s expense. And though, as it seemed at that moment, whatever had happened had been Rachel’s idea and not mine, I had to take full responsibility and suffer the consequences. I decided at once that I must not discuss or dispute the proffered view, but just pass the matter off as coolly as possible. It then came to me: but is Arnold lying? He could well be lying about Christian. Was he also lying about Rachel? What had passed between Arnold and his wife and would I ever know it for certain?

  I looked at Arnold and found him looking at me. He seemed hugely amused. He looked well and strong and young, his lean greasy brown face had the look of a keen undergraduate. He looked like a clever undergraduate teasing his tutor.

  ‘Bradley, it’s true what I said about me and Chris. I care far too much about my work to indulge in muddles. And Christian is rational too. In fact she’s the most rational woman I’ve ever met. What a grip on life that woman has!’