Bruno's Dream

by Iris Murdoch

  ‘You’re a funny chap, Nigel. You worship don’t you, you believe in Him.’

  ‘In Him. Yes.’

  ‘Odd how He changes. When I was very young,’ said Bruno, ‘I thought of God as a great blank thing, rather like the sky, in fact perhaps He was the sky, all friendliness and protectiveness and fondness for little children. I can remember my mother pointing upward, her finger pointing upward, and a sense of marvellous safeness and happiness that I had. I never thought much about Jesus Christ, I suppose I took him for granted. It was the great big blank egg of the sky that I loved and felt so safe and happy with. It went with a sense of being curled up. Perhaps I felt I was inside the egg. Later it was different, it was when I first started to look at spiders. Do you know, Nigel, that there is a spider called amaurobius, which lives in a burrow and has its young in the late summer, and then it dies when the frosts begin, and the young spiders live through the cold by eating their mother’s dead body. One can’t believe that’s an accident. I don’t know that I imagined God as having thought it all out, but somehow He was connected with the pattern, He was the pattern, He was those spiders which I watched in the light of my electric torch on summer nights. There was a wonderfulness, a separateness, it was the divine to see those spiders living their extraordinary lives. Later on in adolescence it all became confused with emotion. I thought that God was Love, a big sloppy love that drenched the world with big wet kisses and made everything all right. I felt myself transformed, purified, glorified. I’d never thought about innocence before but then I experienced it. I was a radiant youth. I was deeply touched by myself. I loved God, I was in love with God, and the world was full of the power of love. There was a lot of God at that time. Afterwards He became less, He got drier and pettier and more like an official who made rules. I had to watch my step with Him. He was a kind of bureaucrat making checks and counter-checks. There was no innocence and no radiance then. I stopped loving Him and began to find Him depressing. Then He receded altogether, He became something that the women did, a sort of female activity, though very occasionally I met Him again, most often in country churches when I was alone and suddenly He would be there. He was different once more in those meetings. He wasn’t an official any longer, He was something rather lost and pathetic, a little crazed perhaps, and small. I felt sorry for Him. If I had been able to take Him by the hand it would have been like leading a little child. Yet He had His own places, His own holes and burrows, and it could still be a sort of surprise to find Him there. Later on again He was simply gone, He was nothing but an intellectual fiction, an old hypothesis, a piece of literature.’

  There was silence in the room. The green-shaded lamp gave a dim light. Nigel had stopped massaging Bruno’s hands and sat staring at him, his long legs hooked round the edge of the chair. Nigel’s eyes were round and vague and his thin-lipped mouth hung open where he had been chewing the lank end of a lock of dark hair. He looked like a slice of a human being. He groaned faintly to indicate understanding of what Bruno had said.

  ‘Odd,’ said Bruno. ‘There are people with whom one always talks about sex. And there are people with whom one always talks about God. I always talk to you about God. The others wouldn’t understand.’

  Nigel groaned.

  ‘What is God made of, Nigel?’

  ‘Why not spiders? The spiders were a good idea.’

  ‘The spiders were a good idea. But I just hadn’t the nerve, the courage, to hang on to them. Perhaps that’s where it all began.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what He’s made of.’

  ‘Perhaps God is all sex. All energy is sex. What do you think, Nigel?’

  ‘It wouldn’t matter if He was all sex.’

  ‘If He’s all sex how can we be saved?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter whether we are saved.’

  ‘I can’t help it,’ said Bruno. ‘I want to be saved. Do you love Him, Nigel?’

  ‘Yes, I love Him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He makes me suffer.’

  ‘Why should you love Him for that?’

  ‘I dig suffering.’

  After a further silence Bruno said, ‘I suppose one is like what one loves. Or one loves what one is like. All gods are private gods. Do you pray, Nigel?’

  ‘I worship. Prayer is worship. Being annihilated by God.’

  ‘Do you think one must worship something?’

  ‘Yes. But real worship involves waiting. If you wait He comes, He finds you.’

  ‘I never went in much for suffering,’ Bruno went on. ‘But I wouldn’t mind it now if I felt it had any meaning, as if one were buying back one’s faults. I’d take an eternity of suffering in exchange for death any day.’

  ‘I think death must be something beautiful, something one could be in love with.’

  ‘You’re young, Nigel. You can’t see death.’

  ‘When I think of death I think of a jet black orgasm.’

  ‘Death isn’t like that, it isn’t like that at all.’ Bruno wondered if he could tell Nigel about the dressing gown and decided he could not. He added, ‘I’m going to see my son. We shall forgive each other.’

  ‘That’s beautiful.’

  Would it be beautiful, something golden, complete and achieved? Could there still be achievement?

  ‘You understand almost everything, Nigel.’

  ‘I love everything.’

  ‘But you don’t understand about death. Do you know what I think?’ said Bruno, staring hard at the dressing gown in the dim light. ‘I think God is death. That’s it. God is death.’

  12

  DANBY CLOSED THE door of the fan-lighted sitting room behind him and leaned against it. His heart was beating like a steam hammer.

  Diana was standing tense and erect near the French windows. They stared at each other without smiling.

  The distance between them was a huge, airy, magnetic space. Danby moved into it slowly, pushing the little rounded chintz chairs out of the way with his feet. Diana stood rigid. When he was a yard away from her he stopped again.

  Then very slowly he came nearer, opening his hands, not with a grasping gesture but with a praying gesture, or perhaps a gesture of benediction. The blessing hands descended, outlining, a foot away, her figure. With a very deep sigh he put his hands behind him. Another step forward and the stuff of his jacket was lightly touching her breast. She slowly leaned her head back and, hands still behind him, he kissed her on the lips. They remained for some time, immobile, eyes closed, lip to lip.

  ‘The metaphysic of kisses,’ said Danby. He put his arms round her now, caressing her slender neck and running his hands very slowly down the length of her back. The fragility, the flexibility, of the human neck. He could feel the pain of her heart beating strongly against his own.

  ‘You made quite a ceremony out of that.’

  ‘The first time I kiss you is worth a ceremony. This is the first of thousands.’

  ‘Or the first of few. Who knows?’

  ‘What am I saying? Millions.’

  Her hands were still hanging at her side.

  ‘I am a very determined and highly organised hedonist, Diana.’

  ‘We aren’t in love.’

  ‘Yes we are. In a way suited to our advanced age.’

  ‘“The heyday in the blood is tame”?’

  ‘I don’t feel at all tame, my dear. What about it?’

  ‘I’ve told you. I love my husband.’

  ‘Well, that was a jolly good kiss from a girl who loves her husband. Come on, be a sport, put your arms round me. Or if you can’t manage that, at least laugh at me!’

  ‘Dear, dear, dear Danby. God, you’re sweet!’ She laughed. Then she threw her arms round him and burrowed her head violently into the shoulder of his jacket.

  Danby tried to lift her head. He took hold of her hair and drew it back and kissed her again. ‘Number two. Let’s sit down, shall we?’

  There was a small plump tasselled sofa against the wall. There wa
s just room for two. The chilly lucid afternoon sun was beginning to slant into the room. ‘Number three.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have let you come here,’ said Diana. She was relaxed in his arms now, thrusting back his white hair from his face.

  ‘But you did because you wanted to see me.’

  ‘I’m afraid I wanted very much to see you.’

  ‘Oh goodie!’

  ‘But it’s all ridiculous, Danby. This is the sort of argument that ends in bed–’

  ‘Goodie, goodie!’

  ‘Only that’s not where we’re going.’

  ‘We’ll see. There’s no hurry. I’ve only kissed you three times. Number four coming up.’

  Danby began to unfasten the front of her dress. Her hand fluttered for a moment trying to stop him and then gave in. Burrowing through white lace his hand covered her left breast. They became still, gazing at each other with wide vacant eyes.

  After a moment Diana struggled to sit up. Only she did not do up her dress but left it hanging open. ‘Let’s try to talk rationally. Tell me about yourself. You say there was a girl and she went to Australia. How long ago was that?’

  ‘About four years ago.’

  ‘And how long had you been together?’

  ‘Three years.’

  ‘What was her name?’

  ‘Linda.’

  ‘You didn’t think of marrying her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Danby thought. He had removed his hand from its first wonderful position and was beginning to edge it up a little under her skirt. She was wearing a different dress today, much smarter, a sort of oatmeal silk affair with buttons all the way down. Convenient. ‘She didn’t want it. And I think I couldn’t marry again.’

  ‘After–Gwen?’

  ‘After Gwen.’

  Diana sighed. ‘Did Linda mind about Gwen?’

  ‘Linda didn’t mind about anything. She was a cheerful girl.’

  ‘I wonder if I am. And you’ve been alone ever since?’

  ‘I’ve been alone ever since.’ Danby did not feel that he was exactly telling a lie. Well, in a way perhaps he was telling a lie. When Diana had asked him the question at the dance hall he had cashiered Adelaide on the spot, provisionally of course. He could probably manage to look after Adelaide somehow. Diana was an enchanting surprise. One would see what happened and meanwhile not to worry. There was no point in putting Diana off right at the start.

  Danby was playing his part of the determined seducer a little dreamily. He was not in fact at all sure exactly what he wanted from Diana. He wanted to go to bed with her. That much, in ways which were far from metaphysical, was abundantly clear. But just how the thing would work he had not thought out or even considered. He remained vague, almost impassive, taking each step when he felt an overwhelming urge to take it; as he had that morning felt an overwhelming urge to telephone Diana and ask to see her.

  Danby felt no general scruple about going to bed with other men’s wives, though in fact he had rarely done it. He felt that one ought not to cause pain, but a discreetly conducted affair caused no pain, and might produce a great deal of happiness, fresh, gratuitous, extra happiness. It was a sense of that extra, of having stolen a march on dull old life, that so much pleased him and made him feel himself, really, a benefactor. He had been a benefactor to Linda and to Adelaide. Why should he not be a benefactor to Diana, who showed every sign of being a rather bored middle-aged wife at a loose end? It was clear that she had intensely wanted to see him again. As for Adelaide, well he might find some way of accommodating them both, and anyway such thoughts were premature. He might not make Diana at all. And if he did, he might find himself very much more in love with her than he yet was. He would deal with these problems as they arose. Meanwhile, the idea of cuckolding Miles, which was not absent from his mind, was rather agreeable. He would get nowhere with Miles. Here was a pleasant way of enlisting, without Miles’s knowledge, Miles’s kind cooperation.

  ‘A love affair has a beginning, a middle, and an end,’ said Diana. She had captured his questing hand.

  ‘Well, let’s let this one have a beginning anyway.’

  ‘Women want things to be forever.’

  ‘Women have an exasperating habit of talking in general terms. When and where shall we begin?’ There was a difficulty here, of course. He would have preferred not to operate in Miles’s house. But his own was always full of Adelaide.

  ‘I don’t want a muddle with you, Danby. I’ve got very fond of you. You make me feel happy–’

  ‘What a lovely thing to say!’

  ‘And I want that happiness to last. Not to be spoilt by–I could hold you–in a romantic friendship–let me try.’

  ‘What you keep calling friendship looks to me like a wicked waste and impoliteness to the gods. Confess you’ve surprised yourself Diana. We get on beautifully, don’t we? It doesn’t often happen, you know.’

  Danby was indeed impressed by the peculiarly delicious ease of their communication, like an impromptu play with an impeccable form. He was enjoying the argument intensely. He had quite forgotten how delightful it was to flirt with an intelligent woman.

  ‘Well, I want you as a friend, as a dear thing in my life, with no dramas, just always there–’

  ‘I can be a dear thing in your life just as well if I’m your lover. Rather better, I should have thought.’

  ‘No. It’ll set off a drama. And I shall lose you.’

  ‘At least I notice that you’ve moved from the conditional tense to the future tense!’

  ‘No, no, I don’t mean–’

  ‘Anyway I don’t see that there’s much difference between what we’re doing now and going to bed.’

  ‘Men always say that. You know there is.’

  ‘You’re not suggesting we meet and don’t touch each other?’

  ‘No. I want to touch you, to kiss you. But nothing more. Well, I do want more but I think it would be crazy.’

  ‘Let’s be crazy then. I know what I want. All this touching and kissing would just drive me up the wall.’

  ‘Oh God. I think perhaps I oughtn’t to see you at all–’

  ‘Come, come. You’ve already gone too far, Diana. You’re a hedonist, just like me. You can’t deprive yourself of me now you’ve got me. Can you now?’

  She stared at the cold sunny window and then slowly looked at him. ‘No.’ She slid her arms under his and hugged him with violence. Danby looked down at the silvery golden hair which was tumbled over his sleeve. Holding her tight and questing with his chin he tried to find her mouth. ‘Number–’

  Danby became aware that he was staring over Diana’s abandoned head straight into the eyes of a thin dark-haired girl who was standing and looking rather distraught in the doorway.

  He loosed Diana, pinching her arms slightly and coughing. Diana slowly lifted her head, looked behind her, and then began quite quietly to do up her dress, her eyes still vague and a little desperate.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry!’ said the girl in the doorway in a clipped rather prissy voice. She turned as if to go, still hesitating.

  ‘Don’t go,’ said Diana. She got up and Danby rose too.

  ‘Danby, this is my sister, Lisa Watkin. This is Danby Odell.’

  ‘Oh, hello–’ The girl hesitated, extended a hand and gave Danby a crushing grip.

  ‘Hello. I didn’t know you had a sister,’ he said to Diana, in an effort to make something which sounded like conversation.

  Lisa, who had now pressed her hand to her heart, seemed more shocked and upset by the encounter than Diana. She was looking anxiously at her sister. Then suddenly they both smiled and the smile revealed a fugitive resemblance. Only Diana’s smile was lazy and inward, whereas Lisa’s was a more outward smile, like a simple animal manifestation.

  ‘Well, then, I’ll be off, upstairs.’ Lisa made a quick awkward movement, rather like someone swatting a fly, and jerked out of the door without looking at Danby. The door c
losed and footsteps receded.

  ‘Gosh!’ said Danby.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Diana, smiling faintly.

  They stood separated from each other, stiff and momently chilled.

  ‘Will she tell Miles?’

  ‘No. I’ll tell Miles you called in.’

  ‘Without details, I hope?’

  ‘Without details.’

  ‘Better have a pretext. Say I called to say eleven thirty tomorrow, not eleven. Are you sure she won’t tell Miles?’

  ‘Of course I am. She’s perfectly discreet. She’s perfect.’

  ‘She isn’t very like you. Is she ill?’

  ‘No. She’s been ill. She’s all right now.’

  ‘A pretty sister and an ugly one.’

  ‘Lisa’s quite good-looking really but you have to know her.’

  ‘How much older is she than you?’

  ‘She’s four years younger.’

  ‘She doesn’t look it. Is she visiting?’

  ‘No. She lives here.’

  ‘Oh hell, Diana, how are we going to organise things?’

  ‘Who says any things are going to be organised?’

  ‘Don’t start that again. Look, darling, I think I’ll go now. The appearance of sister Lisa has put a cold finger on me. But we’ll meet very soon, won’t we? And don’t decide anything and don’t worry. We’ll see how things are. But we must meet, mustn’t we?’

  ‘Yes, Danby, I suppose we must.’ She looked away from him down the narrow green garden which was just beginning to quiver a little in the evening light.

  ‘Well, don’t look so sad about it, my sweet. You’ll telephone me at the works on Monday. If you don’t ring, I’ll ring you.’

  ‘I’ll ring.

  ‘Number–I’ve lost count already.’

  She stayed beside the French window, her arms hanging, as he had seen her at first, and turned slowly toward the garden leaning her head against the glass. Danby let himself out of the front door. As he turned to walk along toward the Old Brompton Road he looked up and saw a figure at an upstairs window and a pale face staring down at him. The figure hastily withdrew. Danby felt again the sense of chill, the cold finger laid upon his heart. She reminded him of somebody.