by Iris Murdoch
He came into a fairly large room with three tall windows. The curtains on the windows were drawn so as to admit very little daylight.
‘I’m Mrs Quaid.’ She turned on a shaded lamp, and Edward saw a semicircle of chairs, heavy furniture against the walls, a fat sofa and two sloppy armchairs, a fireplace with a grate full of ashes, a sideboard with lace and china ornaments, a television set with a shawl over it. Mrs Quaid pulled the curtains more carefully. She said, ‘You’re new.’
‘Yes.’
‘Ever been to a seance before?’
‘No.’
‘You have to pay, you know.’
Edward had expected this. He handed over the fee, which was surprisingly modest. He did not find Mrs Quaid very impressive. Her ‘jewels’, now more visible in the close lamplight, were of the home-made ‘folk’ variety. He said to himself, these people are all charlatans.
‘I’ll explain later when everyone’s here,’ said Mrs Quaid. ‘Won’t be many today I think. Sit down, sit there.’ She left the room and closed the door. Edward put his wet mackintosh under the chair. He was struck by the fact that she had chosen his seat.
The dark room was stuffy and smelt more strongly of the corridor smell, perhaps furniture polish covering some more dirty musty odour. The curtains were made of some thick furry stuff to which Edward instinctively attached a word which he did not know he knew, ‘chenille’. They seemed dusty and he resisted an urge to go and finger them. A large old-fashioned globe of whitened glass hung from a wire in the middle of the ceiling. The banality of the room seemed ill-omened, even evil. The vases on the dirty lace on the sideboard were exceptionally ugly, grossly so. Edward returned to the familiar misery, the familiar fear. He listened to his breath, then to the distant noise of traffic, but the room continued to feel heavily silent. The dusty sweetish smell troubled his breathing and reminded him of something. He realised what it was: the incense which Sarah Plowmain had had burning in her darkened room, when he was in bed with her and Mark was dying.
Someone entered, slinking silently through the door, and sat down not far from Edward. It was a man who, after a quick glance, bowed his head as if in prayer. Edward could hear a faint panting sound. Several more people, men and women, came in with the same surreptitious tread and sat with bowed or covered faces. Edward was uncomfortable, unable to submit to the mood of the scene, his hair was still wet, his trousers were wet and seemed to have shrunk, he felt cold, a smell of damp wool arose from the collar of his jacket, he fidgeted. At about five minutes past five Mrs Quaid came in, attired as before except that she had put some jewels into her turban. She turned the single lamp down further, turning a switch which made the light reddish and very dim.
Then she said in a matter of fact voice, sounding more like a nurse or social worker than a handmaid of another world, ‘Could you pull your chairs round please, push the empty chairs back, make a smaller circle, come round me, that’s right.’ Chairs were shifted awkwardly over the sticky resistant carpet, some pushed away, others moved forward. Making a more intimate group the clientele settled down. Mrs Quaid went on, ‘There are two here who have not before attended a group where we speak to those on the other side, and to them let me speak a few words. You have all come here with private needs and wishes, troubles and desires, grieving for loved ones or seeking for guidance. The success of our communication with what is beyond depends upon your serious and close co-operation. Of course you must be silent, please do not exclaim or cry out or attempt to speak to the spirits yourselves. All communication will pass through me, it can no other. Above all you must concentrate, concentrate upon those whom you love who have now passed over, and upon the efficacy and clarity of the channels of vision as these are revealed unto you. We depend upon you for this help. When I say we, I mean that we are not alone, I am not alone. To reach to those who live in the light, beyond this world, who are trying to speak to us who are left behind in this dark realm, a spirit guide is needed. My guide is a woman, her name is Mary Geddy, and she lived upon this earth in the eighteenth century, she was a housekeeper in a great house in the west country. She will put us in touch. You may hear many voices, the voice of Mary Geddy and then perhaps of other dear spirits who are waiting to get through. It may not be possible to hear the voices of your loved ones, that matter is in the hands of the spirits themselves, but you may be vouchsafed a message. Sometimes the spirits are visible, this does not happen often. You may also feel tangible presences. Do not touch these or try to hold them. You are requested not to leave until I declare the seance at an end. Sit quiet, do not be afraid, concentrate your minds. Sit first for a while in silence.’
During this speech, of which at one level of his mind he was fully aware, Edward was also thinking, suppose something terrible and nightmarish happens to me, awful enough to drive me mad, to drive me to destroy myself? Should I not quickly now get up and go? He felt very afraid, panting silently with open mouth, his heart hurting him with its beat, yet at the same time he felt a kind of relief at being trapped, he could not go, he could do nothing now. He also thought, I’m vibrating with misery and grief, I’m a great electric storm, a destructive disturbance in the middle of this dark room, I shall make it all impossible, I can’t concentrate, I shall scream. He tried to think about Mark, to see Mark, to propitiate his spirit. After some little time the quietness round about began to affect him and he closed his eyes. Then Mrs Quaid began to speak again, but this time it seemed to Edward that she was putting on a thick west country accent. It sounded forced, like a bad actress. The voice, supposed to be that of ‘Mary Geddy’, said first rather incoherently something which sounded like ‘children’ or ‘my children’, and then, after a coughing sound, clarified and said, ‘I think that there is one here who is thinking of his wife who has lately passed on. She is wanting to come through. Her name is Clara.’ There was a faint groaning sound from a man sitting next to Edward. The voice went on after a moment, ‘Clara says I am to tell him that she is well and happy, there are many flowers where she is, flowers such as marigolds. She says not to be unhappy for her since she is happy and waiting for the one she loves to be with her. She cannot tell more of where she is. She knows he will understand, and asks him to look at her ring which she gave him. She says he is to look after himself and do all things what she told him. There is a debt to be paid. She bids him love her and have faith in the time to come. She bids him au revoir.’ The man next to Edward, who had covered his face, groaned again and lowered his head towards his knees.
This manifestation was followed by a silence. Edward had listened vaguely to the insipid message. He felt warmer and a little sleepy. Mary Geddy’s ridiculously artificial voice started up again but broke off, to be followed after a moment by another voice. This voice sounded real, as if some new person had entered the room and were speaking from near the door. ‘George,’ the voice said in urgent tones. It sounded like the voice of a young man. ‘George, are you there? George, it’s me. You promised, you did. I kept my promise. I’ll always be with you, always. George, are you there?’ The reddish light seemed to be extinguished, or perhaps something had moved in front of it. Edward was suddenly conscious of something which seemed to be coming across the space between him and where Mrs Quaid was sitting. Only now she was no longer there. Something soft seemed to touch Edward’s hand, as if stroking it, and a movement of cold air and substance passed close in front of his face. In the almost complete darkness something which had not been there before seemed to be assembling itself inside the ring of chairs. There was a soft sighing sound as of something deflating and a faint sound like running water. Then there was a stifled cry, or whimper. Edward flinched back and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them the red light was visible and the room was as before except that Mrs Quaid sitting in her chair was holding her hands outstretched in front of her. There was a gleam of light and the sound of a closing door, someone had left the room. It seemed to Edward that it was Mrs Quaid who had cried out.
Mrs Quaid adjusted her turban and composed her hands on her lap. Her numerous necklaces glittered faintly. She sniffed and touched her nose with a handkerchief. She said, after a moment or two, in her own voice, ‘There may be no more messages today. But we shall wait a little while to see if the spirits have anything more they want to tell us. Be still and concentrate your minds.’ Edward breathed deeply and almost at once, as it seemed to him afterwards, fell asleep. The voice of Mary Geddy came to him, recalling him from some dark place. The voice said, ‘There is one among us who has two fathers.’ It repeated, ‘There is one among us who has two fathers.’ Edward was instantly alert, sitting forward, peering into the semi-dark toward Mrs Quaid. Mrs Quaid seemed to be humming very very softly, only now he could not see her because a hovering point of light, like a golden mosquito, was moving in between. Edward had noticed, as he entered the room, the big white globe suspended from the ceiling containing, he assumed, an unlit electric light bulb. This globe seemed to have moved a little, and was now lower down above Mrs Quaid’s head. The little point of light entered the globe. The globe seemed to be vibrating, to be part of a vibration which filled the whole room, and as Edward stared at it it was becoming softly luminous and changing colour. Beginning as a pale gold, it had now become a brown or bronze colour, and something was coming out of the inside of it, or rather holes were appearing in it, like empty glowing eyes and a mouth. A deep voice now issued from what now resembled a more than human size spherical bronze head. The voice spoke with some sort of English slightly drawling accent. It said, ‘Come to your father. Come to your father.’ There was a silence filled with vibration. Edward, clenching his fists, his mouth wide open, stared at the apparition. He then clearly heard the voice say ‘Edward’; and then, ‘Come to your father. Come home, my son.’ Edward gave a little sharp cry, like the cry of a bird. The bronze head dissolved and somehow was no longer there and the light in the room changed and Edward could see Mrs Quaid sitting with folded hands. He could not now recall what had just happened, although he could picture it clearly, as something he had actually seen and heard, it was something of a different kind, as if his own head had become huge and the voice had spoken inside it. He uttered his little cry again, turning it into a sob. He saw Mrs Quaid lean forward and touch the lamp. The red light was quenched and the room was revealed in a brighter but still dim glow. Mrs Quaid said, ‘The seance is now at an end.’
The people round about him were no longer entranced, they moved, a woman picked up her handbag, a man coughed, someone got up, the show was over. The door opened and people began to go away. Mrs Quaid stood for a moment stretching her arms and breathing deeply, then walked slowly across to the heavy ‘chenille’ curtains and pulled them back a little and the terrible cold pale daylight of a grey afternoon came into the room. The last clients, transformed into ordinary people with coats and umbrellas and shopping bags and ordinary anxious faces and coughs, were leaving the room, shuffling the chairs and making way for each other as they shambled off. Edward was left alone with Mrs Quaid, who was standing at the window looking out at the street. He searched for his mackintosh, which had been displaced in the movement of the chairs, and put it on. It was still wet. Mrs Quaid said aloud to herself, ‘Double glazing makes all the difference.’ Then she turned and noticed Edward and made a gesture towards the door, inviting him to go. In the ungracious light she looked tired and much older.
‘Mrs Quaid,’ said Edward, ‘please may I ask you something. If someone — if some spirit voice — comes through with a message — like just now — does it mean that that person is dead?’
‘Does it mean what?’
‘That the person — that the voice that speaks has to be that of a dead person, I mean a dead person not a live person?’
‘How do I know?’ said Mrs Quaid in a petulant tone, ‘I am a medium, you understand what that means, I only convey what is sent to me by my guide.’ She added, ‘It’s very tiring you know.’ She carefully took off her turban and put it on a chair, and smoothed down her wispy grey hair.
‘But when you said “There’s someone here who has two fathers — ”’
‘I didn’t say anything. I don’t know what the spirits said.’
‘Someone said my name. You don’t know my name, do you?’
‘No, of course not, never seen you before in my life.’
‘But do living people ever speak like that — ’
‘I dare say anything may happen to those who are in tune with nature. Now I’ve got to have my tea.’
‘Perhaps I imagined it,’ said Edward.
‘Perhaps you did. Sorry, dear.’
Edward went out of the room which seemed so dull and lifeless now, and passed out of the open door of the flat and down the stairs. Outside in the street the rain had stopped and the light had changed, become a bright rainy light with the sun shining momentarily through clouds, there was a fragment of rainbow and everything about him shone radiantly in vivid colours, the glittering pavement, the wet railings, the brick fronts of the houses, the clothes of the passersby, the Post Office Tower. Edward walked a few paces, then stood still. Whatever had happened? He felt a painful excitement, a sick ominous feeling of extreme fear, a desire to vomit. Surely he had heard that strange voice utter his name? He had certainly heard ‘Come to your father, come home.’ It must be for him, that message to the one who had two fathers. But suppose he were being summoned by a dead father?
‘Do you think we should stop Meredith from seeing Stuart?’ Midge McCaskerville asked her husband, as she sat on his desk dressed to go out in her smart black mac and blue and red silk scarf.
‘Why?’
‘He’s become so emotional and peculiar, he might preach his religious mania to Meredith — and — well — ’
‘You think he might spring upon the boy?’
‘No, of course not, but I don’t want Meredith involved in an emotional friendship with Stuart.’
Thomas, who had laid down his pen, picked it up again. He said, ‘I don’t see any problem, we might just create one by interfering.’
‘I wish Edward would attend to Meredith more, he’s very fond of Edward, not much use at the moment of course. Stuart is so sort of unreal and inhuman. Of course it would be difficult, we don’t want to give offence. Are you writing about Mr Blinnet?’
‘No.’
‘Does he still think he murdered his wife and buried her and she’s grown into a laburnum tree? What’s his latest, if it’s not secret?’
‘Oh, he tells everybody. An old schoolmaster of his in Manchester is sending out steel wires which enter into Mr Blinnet’s head and convey slogans.’
‘Slogans?’
‘But not of any interest. Like “Eat more cheese”. Mr Blinnet is bored by the slogans. Sometimes the schoolmaster manipulates the wires causing pain to Mr Blinnet as a punishment for his indifference to the slogans. Some of the wires are steel and some are made of gold. The gold ones produce small fires inside Mr Blinnet’s head, the effects of which are sometimes visible as flames resting on his hair.’
‘Have you seen them?’
‘No.’
‘Poor man,’ said Midge, ‘I can’t imagine what it would be like to think things like that. Mad people, are so inventive. No wonder poets are supposed to be mad.’
‘Mad people are quite unlike poets,’ said Thomas. ‘Their fantasies are detailed and ingenious, but somehow dead. Not surprising in Mr Blinnet’s case, since he also believes that he is dead.’
‘And that he’s the Messiah! Of course he’s Jewish.’
‘He is a quiet unambitious Messiah.’
‘He’s creepy. Meredith is afraid of him. I wish you hadn’t had him here that time the clinic was closed. He smiles that awful bland smile but his eyes stay sharp and inquisitive. And you say he always wears his hat, even when he’s with you.’
‘When I give up the clinic Mr Blinnet will be a problem,’ said Thomas. ‘We could live in the country then. When
Meredith goes to boarding school.’
‘You’re not giving up the clinic,’ said Midge. ‘I hope you’re not being taken over by Mr Blinnet, I don’t think you want to cure him at all! You’ll be late back tonight?’
‘Yes. You’re out to lunch with your American school pal?’
‘Yes, she’s put off going home. Don’t forget Meredith’s school concert, by the way.’
‘What flowers will you buy today?’
‘Irises and tiger lilies.’
Shifting his mobile chair Thomas stretched out his hand and Midge descended onto his knee. ‘Darling Midge, have a nice day.’
‘You have a nice day. Are you seeing someone this morning?’
‘Yes, Edward.’
‘Edward? Really? Did you tell him to come?’
‘No, he rang up.’
‘So you were right.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m so fond of Edward, I feel I could help him. Shall I see him too?’
‘Not yet. Goodbye, mop-head. You look about seventeen.’
‘So you talked to Stuart?’ said Thomas.
‘He talked to me,’ said Edward.
‘What did he say?’
‘He said I should stop reading thrillers and read the Bible, that I should look at azaleas — ’
‘Azaleas?’
‘Well, an azalea. Midge brought me one.’
‘Did she, good.’
‘And listen to the birds singing, and sit quietly, and breathe, and find something good and hang onto it like a terrier — ’
‘And did you?’
‘Of course not. I threw the azalea out of the window. No, I meant to, but he took it away.’
‘Did he touch you?’
‘Touch me? Good heavens no!’
‘Look, I want you to come off those drugs Ursula gave you. Can you?’