The Magus

by John Fowles

  ‘I’m sorry. I forgot to replace your matches.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  Conchis and I sat again, in silence. A few moments later I heard light footsteps going across the gravel towards the sea. I smiled across the table at his unrevealing face. The pupils of his eyes seemed black in their clear whites – a mask that watched me, watched me.

  ‘No illustrations in the text tonight?’

  ‘Does it need them?’

  ‘No. You told it… very well.’

  He shrugged dismissively, then waved his arm briefly round: at house, at trees, at sea.

  ‘This is the illustration. Things as they are. In my small domaine.’

  At any point before that day I should have argued with him. His not so small domaine held a lot more mystification than mysticism; and the one sure feature of ‘things’ there was that they were not what they seemed. He might have his profound side, but another was that of a cunning old charlatan.

  I said lightly, ‘Your patient seemed much more normal this evening.’

  ‘She may appear more normal tomorrow. You must not let that deceive you.’

  ‘There’s no chance of that.’

  ‘As I told you, I shall keep myself out of sight tomorrow. But if we do not see each other again … I shall see you next weekend?’

  ‘I’ll be here.’

  ‘Good. Well … ‘He stood up, as if he had really only been waiting for a certain time, I presumed the time for Julie to ‘disappear’, to pass.

  As I stood as well I said, ‘Thank you. Once again. For possessing me.’

  He inclined his head, like some seasoned impresario too accustomed to first-night compliments to take them very seriously. We walked indoors. The two Bonnards glowed gently from the inner wall of his bedroom. On the landing outside I came to a decision.

  ‘I think I’ll go for a stroll, Mr Conchis. I don’t feel very sleepy. Just down to Moutsa.’

  I knew he might say he would come with me and so make it impossible to be at the statue at midnight; but it was a counter-trap for him, an insurance for me. If we were caught, I could claim the assignation was an accident. At least I hadn’t concealed that I was going out.

  ‘As you wish.’

  He put out his hand and clasped mine, then watched me for a moment as I went downstairs. But before I reached the bottom I heard his door close. He might have been out on the terrace listening, so I crunched noisily on the gravel as I walked north towards the track out of Bourani. But at the gate, instead of turning down to Moutsa, I went on up the hill for fifty yards or so and sat down against a tree-trunk, from where I could watch the entrance and the track. It was a dark night, no moon, but the stars diffused a very faint luminescence over everything, a light like the softest sound, touch of fur on ebony.

  My heart was beating faster than it should. It was partly at the thought of meeting Julie, partly at something far more mysterious, the sense that I was now deep in the strangest maze in Europe. Now I really was Theseus; somewhere in the darkness Ariadne waited; and perhaps the Minotaur.

  I sat there for a quarter of an hour, smoking but shielding the red tip from view, ears alert and eyes alert. Nobody came; and nobody went.

  At five to twelve I slipped back through the gate and struck off eastwards through the trees to the gulley. I moved slowly, stopping frequently. I reached the gulley, waited, then crossed it and walked as silently as I could up the path to the clearing with the statue. It came, majestic shadow, into sight. The seat under the almond tree was deserted. I stood in the starlight at the edge of the clearing, very tense, certain that something was about to happen, straining to see if there was anyone in the dense black background. I had an idea it might be a man with blue eyes and an axe.

  There was a loud ching. Someone had thrown a stone and hit the statue. I stepped into the darkness of the pine trees beside me. Then I saw a movement, and an instant later another stone, a pebble, rolled across the ground in front of me. The movement showed a gleam of white, and it came from behind a tree on my side of the clearing, higher up. I knew it was Julie.

  I ran up the steep slope, stumbled once, then stood. She was standing beside the tree, in the thickest shadow. I could see her white shirt and trousers, her blonde hair, and she reached forward with both hands. In four long strides I got to her and her arms went round me, and we were kissing, one long wild kiss that lasted, with one or two gulps for air, for a fevered readjustment of the embrace, and lasted … in that time I thought I finally knew her. She had abandoned all pretence, she was passionate, almost hungry. She let me crush her body; met mine. I murmured one or two torn endearments, but she stopped my mouth. I turned to kiss her hand; caught it; and brushed my lips down its side and round the wrist to the scar on the back.

  A second later I had let go of her and was reaching in my pocket for the matches. I struck one and lifted her left hand. It was scarless. I raised the match. The eyes, the mouth, the shape of the chin, everything about her was like Julie. But she was not Julie. There were little puckers at the corner of her mouth, a slight over-alertness in the look, a sort of calculated impudence; above all, there was a deep sun-tan. She sustained my stare, then looked down, then up again under her eyelashes.

  ‘Damn.’ I nicked the match away, and struck another. She promptly blew it out.

  ‘Nicholas.’ A low, reproachful – and strange – voice.

  ‘There must be some mistake. Nicholas is my twin brother.’

  ‘I thought midnight would never come.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  I spoke angrily, and I was angry, but not quite as much as I sounded. It was so neat a modulation into the world of Beaumarchais, of Restoration comedy; and I knew the height the dupe has fallen is measured by his anger.

  ‘She?’

  ‘You forgot your scar.’

  ‘How clever of you to see it was make-up before.’

  ‘And your voice.’

  ‘It’s the night air.’ She coughed.

  I caught hold of her hand and pulled her over to the seat under the almond tree.

  ‘Now. Where is she?’

  ‘She couldn’t come. And don’t be so rough.’

  ‘Well, where is she?’ The girl was silent. I said, ‘That wasn’t funny.’

  ‘I thought it was rather exciting.’ She sat, then glanced up at me. ‘And so did you.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake I thought you … ‘ but I didn’t bother to finish the sentence. ‘You’re June?’

  ‘Yes. If you’re Nicholas.’

  I sat down beside her and fished out a packet of Papastratos. She took one, and I gave her a good long look in the matchflare. In return she examined me, with eyes markedly less frivolous than her voice till then.

  The striking facial similarity with her sister upset me in some unexpected way. It seemed a hitherto unrealized aspect of Julie that I could do without, an unnecessary complication. Perhaps it was the tan on this other girl’s skin, a general air of living a more outdoor, physical life, of being healthier, a fraction more rounded in the cheeks … indeed of being what Julie herself must look like in normal circumstances. I leant forward, elbows on knees.

  ‘Why didn’t she come herself?’

  ‘I thought Maurice had told you why.’

  I didn’t show it, but I felt like an over-confident chess-player who suddenly sees that his supposedly impregnable queen is only one move from extinction. Once again I thought frantically back – perhaps the old man had been right about the high intelligence of some schizophrenics. The tea-throwing scene had seemed too far out of character if she was cunning-mad; but cunning-madder still might have precipitated it just to plant the wink at the end; then those collusive bare feet under the table, the message with the matches … perhaps he had been less oblivious than he had seemed.

  ‘We don’t blame you. Julie’s misled far greater experts than you.’

  ‘Why are you so sure I’m misled?’

  ‘Because you wouldn�
�t have kissed someone you really thought was mentally unbalanced like that.’ She added, ‘At least I hope you wouldn’t.’ I said nothing. ‘Honestly, we’re not blaming you. I know how clever she is at suggesting that the madness is in everyone around her. The damsel-in-distress line.’

  But there was something faintly interrogative behind her tone of voice in that last little phrase, as if she wasn’t quite certain how I would react – how far I could be pushed.

  ‘She’s certainly cleverer at that than the line you’re taking.’

  She was silent a long moment. ‘You don’t believe me?’

  ‘You know I don’t believe you. And I think your sister’s mean to still doubt me.’

  She left a longer silence still.

  ‘We couldn’t both get away together.’ She added in a lower voice, ‘I wanted to be sure, too.’

  ‘Sure of what?’

  ‘That you are what you claim.’

  ‘I’ve told her the truth.’

  ‘As she keeps claiming. With a little too much enthusiasm to make me feel she’s in a fit state to judge.’ She added drily, ‘Which I now begin to understand. At least physically.’

  ‘You can easily check that I work at a school on the other side of the island.’

  ‘We know there’s a school. I don’t suppose you have any means of identification on you?’

  ‘This is ridiculous.’

  ‘Not so ridiculous, in present circumstances, as my not asking.’

  I had to grant some justice to that. ‘I haven’t got my passport. A Greek permis de séjour, if that’s any good.’

  ‘May I see it? Please?’

  I fished in my back pocket, then struck three or four matches while she examined the permis. It gave my name, address and profession. She handed it back.

  ‘Satisfied?’

  Her voice was serious. ‘You swear you’re not working for him?’

  ‘Only in the sense you know. That I’ve been told Julie is undergoing some kind of experimental cure for schizophrenia. Which I’ve never believed. Or never face-to-face with her.’

  ‘You never met Maurice before you came here a month ago?’

  ‘Categorically not.’

  ‘Or signed a contract of any sort with him?’

  I looked at her. ‘Meaning you have?’

  ‘Yes. But not for what’s happening.’

  She hesitated. ‘Julie will tell you tomorrow.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind seeing some documentary evidence either.’

  ‘All right. That’s fair enough.’ She dropped her cigarette and screwed it out. Her next question came out of the blue. ‘Are there any police on the island?’

  ‘A sergeant, two men. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I just wondered.’

  I drew a breath. ‘Let me get this straight. First of all you were ghosts. Then you were schizophrenics. Now you’re next week’s consignment to the seraglio.’

  ‘Sometimes I almost wish we were. It would be simpler.’ She said quickly, ‘Nicholas, I’m notorious for never taking anything very seriously, and that’s partly why we’re here, and even now it’s fun in a way – but we really are just two English girls who’ve got themselves into such deep waters these last two months that… ‘ she broke off, and there was a silence between us.

  ‘Do you share Julie’s fascination for Maurice?’

  She didn’t answer for a moment, and I looked at her. She had a wry smile.

  ‘I have a suspicion that you and I are going to understand each other.’

  ‘You don’t share it?’

  She looked down. ‘She’s academically much brighter than I am, but … I do have a sort of basic common-sense she lacks. I smell a rat if I don’t understand what’s going on. Julie tends to be all starry-eyed about it.’

  ‘Why did you bring up the police?’

  ‘Because we’re prisoners here. Oh, very subtle prisoners. No expense spared, there aren’t any bars – I gather she’s told you we’re constantly being assured we can go home whenever we like. Except that somehow we’re always being shepherded and watched.’

  ‘Are we safe at the moment?’

  ‘I hope so. But I must go soon.’

  ‘I can easily get the police. If you want.’

  ‘That’s a relief.’

  ‘And what’s your theory about what’s going on?’

  She gave me a rueful smile. ‘I was going to ask you that.’

  ‘I accept he has been genuinely connected with psychiatry.’

  ‘He questions Julie for hours after you’ve been here. What you said, how you behaved, what lies she told you … all the rest of it. It’s as if he gets some vicarious thrill from knowing every detail.’

  ‘And he does hypnotize her?’

  ‘He’s done us both – me only once. That extraordinary … you had it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And Julie several times. To help her learn her parts. All the facts about the Lily thing. Then a whole session on how a schizophrenic would behave.’

  ‘Does he question her while she’s under?’

  ‘To be fair, no. He’s always scrupulous about whichever one of us isn’t being hypnotized being present. I’ve always been there listening.’

  ‘But you have doubts?’

  She hesitated again. ‘There’s something that worries us. A sort of voyeuristic side. The feeling we have that he’s watching you two falling for each other.’ She looked at me. ‘Has Julie told you about three hearts?’ She must have seen by my face that the answer was no. ‘I’d rather she told you. Tomorrow.’

  ‘What three hearts?’

  ‘The original idea wasn’t that I should always stay in the background.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I’d rather she told you.’

  I made a guess. ‘You and me?’

  She hesitated. ‘It has been dropped now. Because of what’s happened. But we suspect it was always meant to be dropped. Which leaves me wondering why I’m here at all.’

  ‘But it’s vile. We’re not just pawns on a chessboard.’

  ‘As he knows full well, Nicholas. It’s not just that he wants to be mysterious to us. He wants us to be mysterious to him.’ She smiled and murmured, ‘Anyway, speaking for myself, I’m not sure I don’t wish it hadn’t been dropped.’

  ‘Can I tell your sister that?’

  She grinned and looked down. ‘You mustn’t take me too seriously.’

  ‘I’ve already begun to realize that.’

  She let a little silence pass. ‘Julie’s only just got over a particularly messy affaire, Nicholas. That’s one reason she wanted to be out of England.’

  ‘She has my sympathies.’

  ‘So I understand. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t want to see her hurt again.’

  ‘She won’t be hurt by me.’

  She leant forward. ‘She has a kind of genius for picking the wrong men. I don’t know you, so that’s not meant personally at all. Simply that her past record doesn’t give me much confidence.’ She said, ‘I’m being over-protective.’

  ‘She doesn’t need protecting from me.’

  ‘I just mean that she’s always looking for poetry and passion and sensitivity, the whole Romantic kitchen. I live on a rather simpler diet.’

  ‘Prose and pudding?’

  ‘I don’t expect attractive men necessarily to have attractive souls.’

  She said it with a dryness tinged with wistfulness that I liked. I looked secretly at her profiled face; and had a glimpse of a world where they did both play the same part, where I had both, the dark and the pale; Renaissance bawdy stories about girls who changed places in the night. I saw a future where, all right, of course, I married Julie, but this equally attractive and evidently rather different sister-in-law accompanied, if only aesthetically, the marriage. With twins there must always be nuances, suggestions, blendings of identity, souls and bodies that became indistinguishable and reciprocally haunting.

  She murmured, ‘
I must go now.’

  ‘Have I convinced you?’

  ‘As much as you can.’

  ‘Can’t I walk back with you to wherever you hide?’

  ‘You can’t come in.’

  ‘All right. But I need reassurance, too.’

  She hesitated. ‘If you’ll promise to turn back when I say.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  We stood up and went down towards the statue of Poseidon in the starlight. We had hardly reached it when we saw we hadn’t been alone. We both froze. A white figure had stood out, some twenty-five yards away, from among the bushes at the bottom, seaward side of the clearing round the statue. We had spoken in voices too low to be overheard, but it was still a shock.

  June whispered, ‘Oh God. Damn.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  She caught my hand and made me turn away.

  ‘It’s our beloved watchdog. Don’t do anything. I’ll have to leave you here.’

  I looked over my shoulder and made him out better – a man in a white medical coat, a would-be male nurse with some kind of dark mask over his face, whose features I couldn’t distinguish. June pressed my hand and sought my eyes, a look as direct as her sister’s.