An Accidental Man

by Iris Murdoch

  Alone in the drawing-room he finished the brandy. He felt excited, surprised, alert and satisfied, as if he had just added another marvellously beautiful object to his collection.

  ‘I’m going to go and see Dorina,’ said Ludwig, ‘as soon as we get back.’

  ‘Please yourself,’ said Gracie.

  They were alone in the sunshine on a small hemmed-in beach. Sea lapped idly on a strip of pale brown sand. It was low tide. The sand was scattered with tiny creamy-white shells, each one a little masterpiece. Above the sand was a layered pavement of flat smooth faintly striped stones in various shades of lucid grey. Beyond the stones was a coronet of jagged bluish rocks and beyond the rocks an undulation of vivid green hillocks, then the sky, empty, drained of colour, vibrating with light. There was an immense silence.

  The sea was golden near to the shore, then a spotty purple, then a glittering blue until at the horizon there was a dark line lightly sketched in to divide sea from sky. Sitting almost upon this line was the sturdy fortress form of Fastnet lighthouse. Never, even in America, had Ludwig felt quite so far away from the ordinary significant world. He had felt elated and a little frightened. He was very very much alone with Gracie.

  Gracie was skimming flat stones along the glossy smooth water, making them bounce. She could make them leap even a dozen times upon the watery skin. Ludwig could not do this at all. His stones cut straight into the sea and sank.

  They were both dressed for swimming, Gracie in a flowery skirted costume, and Ludwig in black trunks, but only Ludwig had been into the water. Gracie had so far refused to swim at all, maintaining it was too cold. It was, indeed, icy.

  ‘And I’m going to see Charlotte.’ Ludwig sat down on a rock.

  ‘Did Matthew suggest this?’ Gracie skimmed another stone.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’ve talked an awful lot with Matthew, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but not about that.’

  ‘All right then, fine, fine.’

  ‘But you’re mad at me.’

  ‘No, no.’ Gracie came to him, prancing with long sand-encrusted legs. She leaned up against him and licked his shoulder. ‘Mmm. Salt. Nice.’

  ‘But, Gracie, you are mad, you mustn’t be.’ Ludwig had been alarmed to find that it had needed a bit of nerve for him to tell Gracie that he was going to see Dorina and Charlotte. Whatever was his marriage going to be like if he already feared his future wife’s opposition to actions which he had concluded to be right?

  ‘I’m not “mad”, you silly billikins. And I’m not being bloody-minded either. I just think it’s useless and will lead to trouble. You’re so clever and yet when it comes to what you do you can’t foresee the least thing. If you go to see Char she’ll think you’re patronizing her, and she’ll be right.’

  ‘Well — yes —’ Garth had said just this about his own visit to Charlotte. This had partly dissuaded Ludwig from going to see her. This, and having other things to think about. ‘All the same, I think one should go to see people in trouble and take the risk of offending them.’

  ‘It’s not a risk, it’s a certainty. I’ll deal with Aunt Char, later on, financially I mean, in a dignified and business-like way. Which oddly enough she’ll perfectly understand and accept. You just don’t know what these touchy elderly ladies are like.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘When you say you want to go and see her you aren’t really thinking of her, you’re thinking of yourself. You want to have the relieved comfortable feeling that you’ve done all you can. Then you can relax and forget about her. Aren’t I right?’

  ‘Perhaps you are, dearest Poppy. You are such a wise little thing!’

  ‘I’m such a knowing little thing. As for the Dorina biz, you’re just no more use there any more. Another two or three visits, and Austin would start being jealous of you. He probably is already. Any build-up of emotion between you and Dorina could only do her harm. Surely you see that.’

  ‘Yes — But if everyone argues in this way she’ll be left quite alone.’

  ‘Married to Austin I don’t see how she can avoid that, it’s her destiny.’

  ‘I think I’ll go and see her all the same.’

  ‘It’ll end in tears, Ludwig. You don’t think I’m jealous, do you?’

  ‘No, of course not, Poppy, how could you be! Anyway you know it’s not just personal. I’ve been thinking, and — I mean, I do want us to be the sort of married couple who help people.’

  ‘How ghastly! Like my parents!’

  ‘No, not like that — Sorry —’

  ‘Dear Ludwig. It’s just that I hate muddles and scenes and tears and all the rubbish that these people imagine is living the spiritual life or something.’

  ‘I don’t think Austin has any illusions about the spiritual life.’

  ‘Austin is a huge fat egoist, as fat as a bull-frog. If I had a long enough pin I’d puncture him. I’d push the pin in until there was nothing left except a flabby grey skin lying in a heap on the ground. I hate that man.’

  ‘Dear me, you are fierce, Poppy. I’m rather afraid that he loves you.’

  ‘He was awful at that party. But oh dear I was even more awful. Ludwig, you have really and truly forgiven me, haven’t you?’

  ‘Darling creature, of course!’

  Gracie leaned harder against him and toppled him off the rock. They collapsed on to warm sand and lay holding each other. Their bodies were familiar friends now. They lay thus in each other’s arms every night in the little hotel, watching through the window the Fastnet light constantly blinking in the depths of the blue dark, Fastnet speaking of eternity and of the keeping of faith.

  Of course Ludwig had forgiven Gracie. Of course he understood. Yet the pain remained curiously clean and undiminished, that picture of Gracie held close in Sebastian’s arms. The wound throbbed in him unhealing and somehow separated from his substance like a stigmaton. With this suffering, which he supposed would grow less and finally vanish, he did not burden Gracie, but endured it in silence proudly as a task of love.

  ‘Austin doesn’t quite think it’s all holy, but he attaches such cosmic importance to everything that concerns himself that it comes to much the same thing. If God was nasty he’d be rather like Austin.’

  Ludwig laughed. He wanted to make love to her beside the sea. But although the beaches were invariably deserted Gracie would never let him. How wonderful, he thought, to possess her here with the sand upon her shoulders. ‘Gracie —’

  ‘No, please, Ludwig. Someone might come.’

  ‘Let’s go back then. Quick.’

  ‘All right. Do you see, Ludwig, about Dorina? They’d make you play a role in their horrible drama. They both enjoy it, you know.’

  ‘I don’t think Dorina does.’

  ‘Oh yes, she enjoys it. Even if she doesn’t quite know that she does. She’s the sort of woman who really loves show-downs and explanations and confessions and all that. There’s a sort of cunning in it. They’d trap you and then pump all sorts of meaning into everything you did and said, their meaning, like pumping in poison. Ugh!’

  ‘You do feel it strongly! Come on, Poppy.’

  ‘You won’t go to see those people, will you?’

  ‘No, I won’t. Come on, come on, come on.’

  The hired car took them back to the tiny hotel which stood in a fringe of golden seaweed, its feet almost in the water, reflecting its pinkly washed walls in the quiet sea.

  Ludwig lay exhausted on the bed beside his lovely fiancée. It was evening. The sea was a uniform colour of glowing glossy light blue, the sky a darker bottomlessly absolute blue, the monumental lighthouse etched in clear radiant grey. Soon they would rise, have a bath, dress in fresh light clothes, descend to the bar and sit holding hands and drinking Irish whisky.

  ‘Poppy.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m in paradise.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Poppy.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Shall we
buy a cottage in Ireland?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Shall we?’

  ‘No, Ludwig. This is lovely, but I don’t think I could really live in Ireland. There’s too much trouble all the time.’

  ‘Trouble, yes.’ Ludwig had forgotten about trouble.

  ‘Ireland is like Austin. Nice to look at, and one’s sorry for it, but it’s somehow — awful.’

  ‘Poor Austin again!’

  ‘And one would have to know so much history. I hate history. Sorry.’

  ‘Yes. I know. Everyone talks history here.’

  ‘Ninety-eight and so on. Tell me what ninety-eight was some time.’

  ‘Yes —’

  ‘But not now.’

  Not now. That night Gracie lay sleeping in Ludwig’s arms as he watched the regular endless mysterious message of the lighthouse. Only sometimes, but not now as he blissfully held that naked sleeping form close against his own, did he fleetingly recall that out beyond the blink of Fastnet and over the waves of the horizon there still relentlessly existed, multifarious and dangerous and seething with dreadful life, America.

  ‘Austin hasn’t been back?’

  ‘Not since yesterday morning.’

  ‘You’re sure he believed you?’

  ‘Yes. I was in such a panic, I just said firmly “She’s lying down now, you can’t see her”, and then I prayed!’

  Matthew was talking to Mavis on the telephone.

  ‘You think he sort of expected that?’

  ‘I suspect he felt he couldn’t face her.’

  ‘After what she told me happened.’

  ‘Yes. He seemed almost relieved. And he’d already written and brought that long letter.’

  ‘The one you steamed open.’

  ‘Yes. You still think we shouldn’t give it to her?’

  ‘Not just yet.’

  ‘Another one came by post this morning and I steamed that open too.’

  ‘I say, we are going it, Mavis.’

  ‘I know. Today’s one is just the same, incoherent self-accusation and ramblings about forgiveness.’

  ‘Austin is the sort of person who feels he can change the world by writing a letter.’

  ‘Yes, he believes in magic.’

  ‘Did he say anything about his movements?’

  ‘Only that he was going to see Norman Monkley. He said, “I’m going to help poor Norman to remember things”!’

  ‘God!’

  ‘I’m so afraid if he doesn’t hear from her he’ll come round again.’

  ‘Let it go another day.’

  ‘She still doesn’t want to see me?’

  ‘No. It’s not that — She’s in a charmed state. I can’t explain. We’ve talked a great deal, you know.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Mavis, I honestly think it’s doing her good. And somehow it’s the only chance. I didn’t want this to happen, I would have shunned it of all things, but now it’s happened I’ve got to go through with it. You understand.’

  ‘Yes, my dear, yes.’

  ‘It isn’t that she doesn’t want to see you. At the moment she doesn’t want to see anybody.’

  ‘Except you.’

  ‘Except me.’

  ‘What about Charlotte?’

  ‘I don’t think Charlotte’s there. I’ve telephoned her several times. Of course Charlotte may come in useful. I can’t keep Dorina here much longer.’

  ‘No. It’s too dangerous.’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘And if she doesn’t want to come back here she might go to Char?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll try giving Charlotte another ring.’

  ‘Don’t say too much, to Char I mean.’

  ‘No, no. In fact I’m sure she will want to come back to you, even as soon as tomorrow.’

  ‘I hope so. Matthew, I terribly want to see you.’

  ‘I terribly want to see you, my darling. But at the moment I’ve just got my hands full. I’ve never felt quite so, you know, called upon. It’s not that I’ve actually got to watch her all the time, but I’ve got to sort of be there.’

  ‘Like God!’

  ‘Don’t laugh!’

  ‘I’m not laughing.’

  ‘She’s at peace, I think, for the first time for ages. She’s sweating the fear out of herself. Excuse the metaphor. She’s got a real sense of security, which I can give her. It’s not any merit of mine.’

  ‘I know, it’s animal magnetism. I’ve seen you doing it at dinner parties. Sorry, darling, I’m only teasing. I do really believe that you can help her and nobody else can.’

  ‘Thank you, Mavis. Hang on till tomorrow. We’ll make a plan tomorrow. Today I’ll just keep things quietly going here.’

  ‘Matthew, supposing Austin turns up at Valmorana and insists on seeing her? What on earth am I to say?’

  ‘Say she’s somewhere in the country with Charlotte.’

  ‘And I don’t know where! Oh God! Or what about Garth? No, I can’t say she’s with Garth, Austin would hate that.’

  ‘We’d better get hold of Garth. We may need him.’

  ‘He’s moving his digs and he isn’t on the telephone.’

  ‘Well, write to him, and perhaps you’d write to Charlotte too. Ask them both to telephone you as soon as they get the letter. No need to say much. But we may as well have them both available.’

  ‘Yes. Matthew, I’m scared stiff of Austin turning up again. Do persuade Dorina to come back here.’

  ‘I will. And I’ll keep on ringing Charlotte. Try not to worry too much. I’ll see you soon, dear love.’

  ‘Dear Matthew —’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Keep me safe too. If you really are God.’

  ‘Mavis, I love you. That’s what that is.’

  ‘I know. Bless you. I’ll ring again this evening. Look after that poor child.’

  ‘Of course. Goodbye, darling.’

  Matthew put down the telephone and went over to the window. In the enclosed garden outside Dorina was wandering to and fro upon the lawn. She was wearing a clean dress, a little blue stripey affair, which Mrs Carberry had brought over by taxi in a suitcase together with other things neatly packed up by Mavis. Her light brown hair, carefully combed, was hanging loose, cut off in a level line across her shoulder blades. She was walking to and fro very slowly, looking down intently at the grass. Like a captive, he thought. She had always been a captive. She must have walked rather like that at Valmorana. And in some unimaginable way at the flat when Austin was out at the office. She has belonged to Mavis, to Austin, to Mavis, and now to me.

  Matthew went down the stairs and out into the sunny shady garden. The garden was large enough not to be entirely shaded by the high brick walls and the walnut tree. The shadow of the walnut tree did not reach the house until the evening. Dorina walked towards him faintly smiling. Her serenity was uncanny.

  ‘You’ve been talking to Mavis.’

  ‘Yes. How did you know?’

  ‘I just knew. Austin hasn’t been there?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good. You and Mavis must feel as if you’re holding a hand grenade with the pin out.’

  ‘What an image. I assure you we feel nothing of the sort.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Matthew. I know I can’t stay here much longer.’

  ‘You can stay as long as you like, my dear.’

  ‘Let’s sit on the grass. It’s so dry. Who cuts the grass? Do you?’

  ‘No. An Irishman called Geraghty from County Kerry. I’ve given him a week’s holiday.’

  ‘Because of me. We’re all sealed off, aren’t we. We might as well be up there travelling through space.’

  ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘No. I know it can’t last. But while it lasts it’s timeless, something rescued absolutely from time. Give me your hand. It’s so quiet here. What day of the week is it?’

  ‘Friday.’

  ‘Matthew —’

  ‘Yes, my dear child?’

  �
�I think I’ve told you everything I know, everything I remember, and a great deal more besides.’

  ‘I hope you don’t regret it.’

  ‘No. I feel completely made new. All the fear, all that weird tangled part of my being, you know, seems to have gone out of me and some great blank quiet power has come in. Do you understand?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Will it last?’

  ‘Not quite like this. But I do believe that the things that are better will stay better.’

  ‘You were so wonderful the way you put your arms around me on the first night.’

  ‘I felt then that it had to be.’

  ‘This thing between us.’

  ‘Yes, what I had to do. Half measures were no good. I had to care for you and talk to you properly.’

  ‘You have done so. I don’t feel any sort of guilt or worry about having stayed here.’

  ‘I’m glad. You know that we can never tell Austin about this.’

  ‘I know. Yes, yes. I know.’

  They were sitting on the grass together underneath the walnut tree. Dorina sighed, pressed Matthew’s hand and released it.

  ‘I do really think things will be better, Matthew, things with Austin will be better. Somehow I’ve stopped being frightened of him, where there was fear once there’s now just pity and love. And those other things, you know, have quite gone away.’

  ‘There are no final cures, Dorina, don’t hope too much. But if you and Austin could come together and be happy I can’t think of anything that would make me happier.’

  ‘I think after all I will go back to Valmorana tomorrow.’

  ‘Good — good child.’

  ‘I want to start doing things at once, you see. I want to see Austin — You still haven’t got in touch with Char?’

  ‘No, she must be away.’

  ‘You will help her to move somewhere else soon so that we can have the flat?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I feel as if I could make things happen now. Before I was always shut off from life, behind glass, just watching.’

  ‘My dear —’

  ‘Matthew, I love you. You know that.’

  ‘That’s all right. I love you too!’