But Jesse was dead, he could not be visited, and did not, however much he might work or be worked in the mind, belong to that open and accidental scene any more. And yet, Edward thought, Jesse three times interfered between me and Brownie, and not only when he was ‘still alive’. Well, Jesse was a mystery, he had joined the things which go on and on in a life and are in a sense eternal. I did find my father, thought Edward, and he was a magician. Is magic bad? Stuart would think so. It was as if a storm raged about Jesse, but in the middle of the storm it was calm. And as in a vision Edward saw Jesse in the calm centre, diminishing into a tiny radiant sphere, and in the middle of the sphere there was a child. I love him, thought Edward, he has done me no harm, only good, he is alive in me, he needed me, I am responsible for him, I will keep him as a secret, a mystery which I will study and by which I will not be dismayed or made afraid. He is innocent. And then suddenly in his mind he saw his mother Chloe, as she had stood beside the path and opened out her arms and shrieked. He thought, I’ll talk to Harry about her, I’ll find out all about her, I’ve never done that. Perhaps I’m responsible for her too!
And Brownie, would there always be a special bond between them, fashioned by time into something pure and good? Brave abstract words. Perhaps Brownie too would become one of the eternal things. At any rate he was sure that the deep confused pain he felt about her now would pass. He could distinguish between pains, he who had had so many. This was not an illness of his whole being, it was a clean wound which would heal.
‘So we’re together again,’ said Harry, pulling the cork out of a bottle of champagne, ‘us against the rest.’
They were in the drawing room. Stuart was cutting open a carton of apple juice with a pair of scissors, and carefully pouring it into a glass jug.
‘But we’re not against the rest, are we?’ said Stuart.
‘I am. Edward, drink this, it’ll do you good.’
‘Thanks.’ Edward drank some of the champagne. It tasted heavenly.
‘I meant to tell you, Ed,’ said Stuart. ‘I saw something written on a wall near the British Museum, it said Jesse Lives.’
‘I saw that too,’ said Harry, ‘and Jesse Baltram is king.’
‘What does it mean?’ said Edward.
‘It means your father is a sex hero!’
‘I thought it was rather touching,’ said Stuart, ‘he means something to people.’
‘My sister said I looked so like him, I could have any girl in London!’
‘Good on you, Edward,’ said Harry, ‘I drink to you!’
‘What’s this place you’re going to?’ said Edward to Stuart.
‘It’s a teachers’ training college, I can do a short course. I have to have a diploma.’
‘I suppose you’ll teach sixth-formers?’
‘No, little children.’
‘You mean ten, eleven?’
‘No, eight, six, four.’
‘You must be mad!’ said Harry.
‘You see,’ said Stuart, ‘things must be got right at the start — ’
‘You mean computers? I thought you hated them!’
‘No, I mean thinking and morality — ’
‘You sound like a Jesuit, indoctrinate them when young — ’
‘Computers, OK, but that’s just mechanical. You can teach language and literature and how to use words so as to think. And you can teach moral values, you can teach meditation, what used to be called prayer, and give them an idea of what goodness is, and how to love it — ’
‘Stuart, you’ve opted for power after all! I thought good men were powerless. You’re a power maniac, just like I said!’
‘Of course the problem is how to do it,’ said Stuart, ‘it’s all in that, the whole problem is in that — I’ll have to learn — and meanwhile I’m going to do some voluntary work with some of Ursula’s people — ’
‘It sounds wonderful,’ said Edward, ‘but nobody will let you.’
‘I think they will,’ said Stuart. ‘Of course I’ll have to get experience first and work out a system and interest other people. I’d like to have a school of my own.’
‘There you are,’ said Harry, ‘Stuart as boss! You won’t last long in the education world, in fact you’ll never start! You’ll never make a schoolmaster, they’ll laugh at you. You’re really a masochist — ’
‘Well, let them laugh, perhaps I’ll laugh too. I’ll be experimenting, searching, it seems to me that the basis of education — ’
‘You’ll be searching all your life,’ said Harry, ‘I’m afraid you’re a “seeker”, I never could stand seekers, they cause endless trouble. You’ll never find your place, you’ll always be a beginner — Don’t you agree, Edward?’
‘No,’ said Edward, ‘I think Stuart is more like a monument, he just exists and that’s a good thing, he’s an unmoved mover. But seriously, I think he could have a lot of influence, he might become a great educational reformer, we certainly need one.’
‘No one can avoid muddle,’ said Harry, ‘no one can avoid corruption, the pure dedicated life is an illusion, the mere idea of it is a damaging lie, look at all the wickedness priests cause, they’re as messy as we are only there’s a conspiracy to keep it dark. The idea of goodness is romantic opium, it’s a killer in the end. Stuart’s a menace, he’s a simplifier, he’s got no imagination, he’s got no sense of drama — ’
‘Wait a minute,’ said Edward. ‘Those aren’t the same — ’
‘As you said, he’s a monument, he’s static, he’s like those Greek philosophers who thought nothing moved and all was one — ’
‘Perhaps he’s got no unconscious mind,’ said Edward.
‘Everybody’s got one, that’s why religion is an illusion.’
‘There’s something he hasn’t got.’
‘Well, it’s not sexual urges, he’s my son, he’ll break out!’
Stuart had been laughing. They all laughed. Watching the two tall men together Edward saw how much they resembled each other. Stuart had grown older. How had he managed to do so, experiencing nothing?
‘If you do ever get your education theory going and have your own school, I’ll invest in it!’ said Harry. ‘So you’ll sit at a desk now and learn things? What will you learn, what’s that book you’ve been reading?’
“It’s a novel by Jane Austen called Mansfield Park.’
Harry and Edward roared with laughter.
‘You see, I have to do a paper in English literature — ’
‘You’re reverting to childhood. You’re nothing but a six-foot child!’
‘I can’t put it down, it’s awfully good — ’
‘Of course it is, silly! And what are you reading, Edward, what’s that book you’re reading?’
‘Oh — Proust — ’ Edward had been looking for the passage which had so amazed him at Seegard about Albertine going out in the rain on her bicycle, but he couldn’t find it. He had turned to the beginning. Longtemps, je me suis couché de bonne heure. What a lot of pain there was in those first pages. What a lot of pain there was all the way through. So how was it that the whole thing could vibrate with such a pure joy? This was something which Edward was determined to find out.
‘And this time next week you’ll be looking at Vesuvius out of your bedroom window,’ said Stuart.
‘We’ll come and join you,’ said Edward.
‘No you won’t!’
‘A lot of gods live around there,’ said Edward. ‘There’s an entrance to Hades. Or is that at Etna?’
‘There’s one everywhere. The world is full of signposts to hell.’
‘It’s certainly full of signs,’ said Stuart. He thought of the mouse. And of girls who plaited their hair in the morning.
‘Oh well, there are good things in the world,’ said Edward.
‘Are there? Let’s drink to them. Edward, Stuart — ’
‘But which things are they?’ said Edward. ‘We might all mean different ones.’
‘Never mind, drink to t
hem. Come.’
They raised their glasses.
By the same author
Philosophy
SARTRE, ROMANTIC REALIST
THE FIRE AND THE SUN
ACOSTOS: TWO PLATONIC DIALOGS
METAPHYSICS AS A GUIDE TO MORALS
EXISTENTIALISTS AND MYSTICS
Fiction
UNDER THE NET
THE FLIGHT FROM THE ENCHANTER
THE SANDCASTLE
THE BELL
SEVERED HEAD
AN UNOFFICIAL ROSE
THE UNICORN
THE ITALIAN GIRL
THE RED AND THE GREEN
THE TIME OF THE ANGLES
THE NICE AND THE GOOD
BRUNO’S DREAM
A FAIRLY HONOURABLE DEFEAT
AN ACCIDENTAL MAN
THE BLACK PRINCE
THE SACRED AND PROFANE LOVE MACHINE
A WORD CHILD
HENRY AND CATO
THE SEA, THE SEA
NUNS AND SOLDIERS
THE PHILOSOPHER’S PUPIL
THE GOOD APPRENTICE
THE BOOK AND THE BROTHERHOOD
THE MESSAGE TO THE PLANET
THE GREEN KNIGHT
JACKSON’S DILEMMA
Plays
A SEVERED HEAD (with J. B. Priestly)
THE ITALIAN GIRL (with James Saunders)
THE THREE ARROWS and
THE SERVANTS AND THE SNOW
THE BLACK PRINCE
Poetry
A YEAR OF BIRDS
(Illustrated by Reynolds Stone)
Iris Murdoch, The Good Apprentice
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