The Time of the Angels

by Iris Murdoch

  The annexe with the boiler room was reached through a windowless corridor beyond the kitchen where unshaded electric light burnt day and night. A smell of coal and incense pervaded this tunnel. Muriel went through and stopped outside Eugene’s door. At once, with a sudden sharp pain, she heard Pattie’s voice inside the room.

  “Looking for me?”

  “No.” Muriel did not turn round. She affected to be looking for something in her handbag.

  “But you must be,” said Leo. “I’d say you were. Won’t you walk into my parlour? I’ve been like Mariana in the Moated Grange just waiting for you to come.”

  Leo edged round Muriel, touching her very lightly on the shoulder, and went to open the farthest door. He stood on the threshold invitingly. Muriel hesitated and then walked into the room. She could still feel the place on her shoulder where Leo had touched her.

  “What are you scowling at?”

  “I’m not scowling,” she said.

  The room, which was very warm, was a high box with walls of brown crumbly cement which made it seem like a space hewn in sandy soil. An uncurtained window above head level was dark. A cream-shaded bulb attached to the ceiling gave a pearly light. Chinese rush matting covered the floor. A low narrow divan bed was covered with a printed Indian coverlet. Three wooden stools stood in a row against the wall. In one corner a trim one-deep pile of books reached up to the level of the window. A plain oak chest with an embroidered cushion on it stood behind the door. Two Japanese prints of galloping horses were stuck on to the wall above the bed. There was nothing else in the room except a chess board upon the floor. There was no table.

  Muriel was slightly surprised by the room. “You’re neat.”

  “I’m practising to change my sex.”

  “Where do you do your work?”

  “My what?”

  “I see you play chess.”

  “I have to pretend to for professional reasons. Do you?”

  “Yes, but I’m not much good.” In fact Muriel played quite well, but she had never been able to persuade Elizabeth to learn. She decided at once that she would never play with Leo. He might win.

  “We must have a game. Won’t you sit down? One sits on the floor here. The stools are just symbolic.” Leo sat down cross-legged with his back against the bed.

  Muriel hesitated again. She wondered if Pattie was through with Eugene yet.

  “Tell me one thing truly for once, Leo. Did your father have a title when he was in Russia?”

  “A title? Good heavens no. I didn’t imagine you were one of those people who think all emigre Russians have titles.”

  “A pity,” said Muriel. “He has such dignity. He ought to have been a prince.”

  “What about me? Couldn’t I be a prince too?”

  “You—!”

  “All right. I’m a democrat. A materialist. A scientist. A postatomic man.”

  “I see your books are all science fiction. Haven’t you any serious books?”

  “In pawn. Sit down, you serious girl. Or are you afraid to?”

  Muriel sat down against the wall with her legs tucked under her and stared at Leo who stared at her. Leo was dressed in jeans and a white high-necked Irish sweater. He looked formidably spare and neat, like his room. Muriel studied his face. He had a short faintly freckled nose, rather full lips, and eyes of an extremely light luminous grey. His reddish-gold hair, thick but cut very short, growing well down on to his neck, was as glossy as healthy fur.

  “You’re quite good-looking,” said Muriel.

  “Are you going to reward me for it?”

  “Why should you be rewarded? You seem to live in a world of rewards and punishments.”

  “You owe me something.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you deny me yourself.”

  “As you have no claim on me I owe you nothing if I keep myself.”

  “Then reward me just for being beautiful. I have so few pleasures.”

  “I have nothing else to give.”

  “A solitary girl has infinite gifts. A secret rose tossed from a window, a perfumed handkerchief that flutters down, as if by accident—ah, those were the days.”

  Muriel recalled again the curious fact that Leo was evidently still unaware of Elizabeth’s existence.

  “What do you want to be given?”

  “Well, I’m a modest boy. A virgin most of all. But if you haven’t one handy I’ll settle for one of your shoes. Not the sensible variety if possible. Did you know I was a fetishist?”

  A strange idea had come into Muriel’s head. Supposing she were to introduce this beautiful animal to Elizabeth? The idea, even before it had announced itself clearly, was significant and exciting. Elizabeth was asleep, spellbound. Why not awaken her with a shock, with this shock?

  The next moment Muriel told herself it was impossible, idiotic, dangerous. Carel would never agree to Elizabeth’s seeing Leo. Leo was much too, the word occurred to her, real, too grossly, too discordantly real. Carel only approved of very dim and effaced young men as visitors for Elizabeth, and he was unlikely in his present mood to sanction any visitors at all. Besides, could Elizabeth stand such a shock without being seriously upset? She was so used now to the absolutely familiar routine, the muted and harmonious ceremony of slow movements and low voices.

  But was that not just the trouble? The closed system which encircled her like a dance in slow motion was exactly what had made her sleepy. It was what had made her sleepy and what had made Muriel feel of late that she was stifling, that she was herself a captive. They had held their breath for Elizabeth long enough. It was time for something noisy and unexpected, for something a little unpredictable and entirely new. Leo was noisy, unexpected, unpredictable and new. Muriel’s imagination juxtaposed them. The image was pleasurable.

  “Fresh air,” said Muriel.

  “What?”

  “Sorry, I was thinking aloud.”

  Would her father be very angry? Well, did it matter if her father was very angry? Was it not time that something was done in the house which had not been minutely scrutinized and authorized in the slow darkness of Carel’s mind, so that it seemed at last that they were all just the shadows of his thoughts? Elizabeth had not seen a single presentable young man since she had grown up. O brave new world!

  Of course it would shake Elizabeth, and she might even resent something so sudden. But why should not Elizabeth be shaken, shaken out of that menacing drowsiness? A shake, a shock, would do them all good. It would be something invigorating, exciting. With Leo as her delightful tool Muriel would move to the attack. Why did it now seem so like a sweet warfare? Well, she would make war upon her cousin. And here in a way Leo’s lack of seriousness made him the ideal implement. Leo would further the game, but there could be no complications, no infections, no muddle. Nothing dangerous could happen. With Leo she would procure Elizabeth an experience. She would procure herself an experience.

  “You say you’ve ditched your girl friend?”

  “Absolutely. I’m for sale.”

  “Supposing I were to tell you,” said Muriel, speaking slowly, “of a beautiful and solitary virgin hidden away in a dark house?”

  “I’d say you were having me on.”

  “You don’t know about my cousin Elizabeth?”

  “Your what?”

  “I’m not the only girl in the Rectory. There is another girl here, younger and more beautiful. My cousin.”

  “You mean here, within these walls, now?”

  “Yes.”

  Leo stood up. He looked startled, almost frightened. “Another girl. Really?”

  “Yes, really, Leo.”

  “This is a joke.”

  “No it isn’t.”

  “But why haven’t I seen her?”

  “She’s been a bit ill. Nothing serious, a rather tiresome back. She keeps to her room at present.” The corset. Should she tell Leo about the corset? The idea of telling him was curiously exciting.

  “B
ut why is she hidden away? Why is she kept a secret?”

  “She’s not kept a secret. It was pure accident you didn’t know about her.”

  “That odd bell I’ve sometimes heard ringing. Was that her?”

  “Yes.”

  “A girl with a bell. How old is she?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “And is she really beautiful?”

  “Very beautiful.”

  “And a virgin?”

  “Yes. In fact she’s hardly met any men at all.”

  “Does she know about me?”

  “Yes.” It was a half truth.

  Leo had resumed his normal face. “Lead me to her!”

  “Not so fast,” said Muriel. “You must take certain vows first of all.”

  “I’ll vow anything.”

  “First you must promise to be guided by me and to obey me absolutely. Elizabeth has led a very solitary life. She must be treated very gently and ceremoniously.”

  “What does ceremoniously mean? That I can’t even kiss her?”

  “She and I will decide that. You’ll find her very different from the little nitwits at your college.”

  “You’re not going to be there all the time, are you?”

  Muriel had not even reflected about this. Now the idea of being there all the time seemed rather pleasant. Of course nothing was really going to happen. “No, of course not. Not if you behave well.”

  “I hope I won’t have to behave too well.”

  “But you promise to obey me?”

  “Yes, all right, I promise.”

  “Good. Now the second thing. You must have no ties or other complications of any kind. Elizabeth deserves your complete attention, otherwise it’s not on. What about that business you asked me for money for? Was that true, by the way?”

  “Oh that. That’s all over. I fixed it. The little job’s been done. The girl is free. She’s got another boy already.”

  “Where did you get the money from?” said Muriel.

  Leo stared at her and then made a grimace and abruptly turned away. He moved into the corner of the room and inclined his forehead to the wall.

  “Go on, Leo.”

  “Shall I confess?”

  “Yes, confess. I’m unshockable.”

  “Will you keep it dark?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, you know that old religious picture my poppa was so keen on? I took it and sold it.”

  “Good God!” said Muriel. She pulled herself to her knees and stood up.

  “Naughty, was it?”

  “How could you have been so utterly rotten!”

  Leo twisted his head round. “I thought you were unshockable. Anyway you yourself suggested I should steal something.”

  “I didn’t mean it. And to steal that, to steal from your own father, to take away something he loved so much—”

  “The Roman Catholic Church says children can’t steal from their parents. It’s a matter of concepts.”

  “You know quite well it’s stealing.”

  “Well, then, fathers are just the ones to steal from. I explained to you last time about fathers.”

  “Does he know you took it?”

  “No, of course not. What would be the point of telling him? He’d just be peevish.”

  “I think it’s the meanest, rottenest thing I’ve ever heard of.”

  “I thought you were outside all those old conventions. You aren’t being very clear-headed, are you, my dear?”

  “Don’t talk rubbish. How much did you get for it?”

  “Just what I needed. Seventy-five pounds.”

  “And they just gave it to you? It’s probably worth far more.”

  “I told you I was a modest boy.”

  “You must get it back,” said Muriel. “You must get it back even if you have to steal it back.”

  Leo pulled himself out of the corner and sat down on the bed. “Now you’re really muddling me.”

  “You sold it to a shop?”

  “Yes, a classy antique shop in Shepherd’s Market.”

  “I hope to God they haven’t got rid of it already. You must get it back. Leo, how could you!”

  “Quiet easily, old dear. I told you I needed a great big liberating act. That was it. Down with fathers.”

  “You don’t mean it. You know you’ve acted rottenly. You can’t jump out of morality as easily as that.”

  “Can’t I, Muriel? Have you ever heard of quasars?”

  “What?”

  “Quasars. They’re a kind of star. Never mind. Just you cast an eye on the universe and then talk to me about morality. Suppose we’re all being directed from somewhere else by remote control? Suppose we’re just frogspawn in somebody’s pond?”

  “Well, and suppose we’re not. You don’t mean any of this rubbish. You’re ashamed. You must be.”

  Leo stared up at Muriel with a blank bland expression. “I may be prepared to enact shame. Will that do?”

  “You must go to your father and tell him.”

  “Prodigal son act?”

  “You must say you’re sorry. You must be sorry. And you must get that icon back somehow, get it back.”

  “I shall have other things to do. I’m just going to meet your virginal cousin.”

  “Oh no, you’re not.”

  “You promised!”

  “I didn’t. It was a very bad idea. Oh God, I’m so confused.” Muriel put her hands to her face as if to find tears which she suddenly heard in her voice.

  “Please. Look, if I confess to my dad and if I get the bloody icon back will you let me have your cousin?”

  “Well, if you do those things I might let you meet her. Otherwise not. And that’s definite.”

  “A quest! A quest! It’s on. I’ll take my chance. I’ll even take my chance on your estimate of her beauty.”

  “Leo, Leo, I just don’t understand you. How could you have deliberately hurt your father so much.”

  “Quasars, Muriel, quasars, quasars, quasars!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “WELL, I MUST go,” said Pattie. “I’ve been here for ages. I don’t know when I’ve talked so much to anybody. You must think I’m a regular chatterbox. But I never talk usually.”

  “Don’t go, Pattie.”

  “I must.”

  “When will you come again?”

  “Soon. After all, I’m in the house, aren’t I?”

  Eugene held out his hand to Pattie. He had now established a ritual of hand-shake greetings. It was a way of touching her. He enclosed her hand and his fingers momentarily caressed her wrist. He let her go reluctantly and she whisked out of the door with a wave and a smile.

  Eugene fussed a little about his room. He stacked up the cups and saucers and brushed the cake-crumbs off the furry green tablecloth. Pattie had eaten four cakes. He watered the potted plant. He had taken to watering it rather too often since the icon had gone. He noticed that the leaves were turning yellow. Then he sat down on a chair and looked up at the empty space where the icon had been.

  Where was it now? It was odd to think that it was somewhere. He would have preferred to think it had ceased to exist. He seemed to see it suffering, yearning, calling out vainly for him in a little voice, weeping miraculous tears. Of course this was idiotic, it was childish. The thing was only a bit of wood. He must have some sense of proportion, some sense of scale about his loss. He had tried to prompt Pattie into telling him so, but she was far too sympathetic to understand his cues. It was no good expecting brisk and bracing talk from Pattie. He would have to tell himself that it was only an old picture, after all. He had had real losses and survived them. Why this ridiculous grief now? He was better off without the thing. Perhaps he had prized it too much. It was his last real possession and it had shielded him from the knowledge that he had lost everything.