Perhaps, indeed, Nan is not serious, Mor thought. But that isn’t the point. As far as Nan is concerned our marriage may be solid enough. But why shouldn’t it be, for her - since it’s always been an arrangement devised for her convenience? Possibly I too am one who is to decide whether our marriage is solid. And it will not be solid - if I decide to break it. He leaned against a tree, disturbing the ferns with his foot. For the hundredth time he conjured up memories from the past, memories of the long long quarrels with his wife, from which he would emerge feeling as if every bone in his body had been broken, and she would emerge fresh and smiling, with the familiar mockery upon her lips. But this time the memories would not perform their task. Mor no longer felt any anger. Instead he saw again, clear as in a photograph, the look which he had received from Donald in the chapel. He closed his eyes. Oh God, what a mess he had made of it all. Only one thing was dear. He would not surrender Rain. The prospect of doing this, when he came to contemplate it, as many times in every day as he forced himself to do so, was like the prospect of cutting off his own arm at the shoulder with a blunt knife.
A long time had passed. Mor looked at his watch. He was almost late. He turned and began to walk through the wood in the direction of the squash courts. Now that the heat wave had broken, the weather was pleasantly warm and cloudy. A scent of moist sand and moss was rising from the crisp path beneath his feet and small white clouds, seen for a moment between coniferous branches, were tumbling down in the direction of the valley. Mor began to wonder where he would go with Rain that afternoon. They could go away somewhere in the car, somewhere a long way off, London perhaps, or perhaps over the top of the downs to the coast, to the sea. So slowly and reassuringly the idea of her took possession of his mind. She drew him. He quickened his pace.
As he went, his path crossed another path which led down the hill from Prewett’s house. Here some of the younger boys were padding about, dressed in bathing wraps and rubber shoes, bound for the swimming pool. When they saw Mor they shouted ‘Good afternoon, sir!’ and stood aside to let him pass. With a hasty salute he hurried across and plunged into the deeper wood, leaving the path now, and ran down the hill through the dragging bracken and the brambles until he saw close to him through the trees the pale rough-cast walls of the squash courts. The building was plain and oblong with an entrance at each end and a pointed glass roof. Within, it consisted simply of the six adjacent courts with the corridor which joined them, and a narrow overhanging gallery for spectators. Mor came running across the open grass, swung in through the door, and straight into the first court.
A person was standing there; but it was not Rain. It was Bledyard. It took Mor a second to recognize him and another to conclude that he was not there by chance. They looked at each other in silence. Mor waited for Bledyard to speak. Bledyard was dressed in his Sunday clothes, a black suit and an unusually clean shirt. He looked at Mor from under his eyebrows. He seemed a little embarrassed. Mor was panting from his run and leaned back against the dirty green wall of the court. Once the first shock was over he felt strangely little surprise at seeing Bledyard there. It was all part of the madness of the present time.
Bledyard said at last, ‘I sent her away.’
‘You sent her away?’ said Mor. He almost laughed at the impudence of it. ‘How dare you do that? She’s not a child.’
‘Well, you know you know she is a child,’ said Bledyard.
‘Which way did she go?’ said Mor. ‘I regret that I can’t stay to tell you just what I think of this perfectly idiotic interference.’
‘I have things to say to you,’ said Bledyard.
‘I have no time to listen to you,’ said Mor. They stood for a moment, Mor glaring and Bledyard squinting at the floor. Mor made another impatient movement. He was extremely angry and upset and anxious to go to find Rain, wherever she might be, distressed no doubt by the unspeakable Bledyard. However, he was also rather curious about what Bledyard was up to. He still hesitated.
‘I want to talk to you about the things you are doing now,’ Bledyard, ‘to your wife and Miss Carter.’
‘Suppose you mind your own goddamn business!’ said Mor. He was trembling. Bledyard’s impertinence was almost beyond belief. Yet it was not as impertinence that Mor felt these words.
‘I think that you should reflect reflect carefully,’ said Bledyard, ‘before you proceed any further.’ He was looking directly at Mor now. He was no longer embarrassed.
‘I know it’s Sunday, Bledyard,’ said Mor, ‘but one sermon is enough. You speak of matters of which you know nothing whatever.’
Over their heads, upon the green glass roof of the court, birds were moving to and fro, their shadows flickering, scratching on the glass. A sudden din of shouts and splashes from near at hand announced that the juniors had hurled themselves into the swimming pool. The birds flew away.
‘I have to bear witness,’ said Bledyard, ‘and say that I think you are acting wrongly.’ He stood very straight, his hands hanging down, his eyes wide open and bulging, looking at Mor.
Mor knew now that he could not go away. He regretted it deeply. He knew too that he could not fend Bledyard off with anger and indignation. ‘I seem to remember your saying not so long ago,’ he said, ‘that human beings should not judge one another.’
‘Sometimes,’ said Bledyard, ‘it is unavoidably our duty to attempt to attempt some sort of judgement — and then the suspension of judgement is not charity but the fear of being judged in return.’
‘All right, all right,’ said Mor. ‘Your interference is absurdly impudent and self-righteous. But I’m insane enough at the moment to be willing to hear what you have to tell me.’ Something in the seriousness of Bledyard’s manner, combined with the extremity in which he now continuously felt himself to be, made him engage the discussion on Bledyard’s own terms. He added, ‘Let me say at once that I doubt if my conduct is defensible on any front.’
The latter showed no surprise. He replied, ‘That is a very strong position, Mr Mor! The point is not to lament or cry out mea maxima culpa, but rather to do the thing the thing that is right.’
‘Well, you tell me what that is, Bledyard,’ said Mor. ‘I can see you’re going to in any case.’ He squatted back against the wall. The lower part of the wall was covered on all three sides with black footmarks where boys had sprung up against it in the court of play. Above him hung the face of Bledyard in the fading greenish light. The roof was darkened. It must be clouding over. A few drops of rain pattered on the glass. Mor shivered. The screams were still rising unabated from the swimming pool.
‘You know what it is,’ said Bledyard. ‘You are deeply bound to your wife and to your children, and deeply rooted in your own life. Perhaps that life that life will hold you in spite of yourself. But if you break break these bonds you destroy a part of the world.
‘Possibly,’ said Mor, ‘but I might then build another part.’ What he said sounded empty and trivial in his own ears. And how can you, an outsider, assess the value of these bonds, as you call them, in terms of human happiness?‘
‘Happiness?’ said Bledyard, making a face of non-comprehension. ‘What has happiness got to do with it? Do you imagine that you, or anyone, has some sort of right to happiness? That idea is a poor guide.’
‘It may be a poor guide,’ said Mor, ‘but it’s the only one I’ve got!’ He spoke with bitterness.
‘That is not true, Mr Mor,’ said Bledyard. He leaned forward, stooping over Mor, his long hair flapping. ‘There is such a thing as respect for reality. You are living on dreams now, dreams of happiness, dreams of freedom. But in all this you consider only yourself. You do not truly apprehend the distinct being of either your wife or Miss Carter.
‘I don’t understand you, Bledyard,’ said Mor. He spoke wearily. He felt himself strangely cornered in the bare monochrome square of the squash court which seemed suddenly like a cell.
‘You imagine,’ said Bledyard, ‘that to live in a state of ex tremity
is necessarily to discover the truth about yourself. What you discover then is violence and emptiness. And of this you make a virtue. But look rather upon the others - and make yourself nothing in your awareness of them.’
‘Look here, Bledyard,’ said Mor, ‘even if it were the case that I could set aside all consideration of my own happiness and my own satisfaction I should still not know what to do.’
‘You lie,’ said Bledyard. He spoke quite evenly and quietly. ‘You do not know even remotely what it would be like to set aside all consideration of your own satisfaction. You think of nothing else. You live in a world of imagined things. But if you were to concern yourself truly with others and lay yourself open to any hurt that might come to you, you would be enriched in a way of which you cannot now even conceive. The gifts of the spirit do not appeal to the imagination.’
A burst of ear-splitting screams arose from the swimming pool. It sounded as if hell’s gate had been opened.
Mor was silent. He did not know how to answer Bledyard. He said, ‘I am probably not capable of what you speak of. Such an austerity would be beyond me. I am too deeply involved now even to attempt it. Perhaps too I don’t think as highly as you do of these “bonds” and “roots” All I can say is that this is my situation and my life and I shall decide what to do about it.’
‘You speak as if this were a sort of virtue,’ said Bledyard, ‘you speak as if to be a free man was just to get what you want regardless of convention. But real freedom is a total absence of concern about yourself.’ Bledyard was speaking earnestly and quickly and was now scarcely stammering at all.
Mor stood up. Bledyard’s didactic tone was beginning to anger him. He had humbled himself quite sufficiently before the man. ‘I don’t despise what you say, Bledyard,’ he said. ‘I’m sure it’s very wise. It just doesn’t manage to connect itself with my problems. And now, could I ask just one thing, and that is that you don’t go bothering Miss Carter with any talk of this sort.’
His utterance of the name altered the atmosphere. Bledyard thrust his head forward and said in an excited tone, ‘You know you are damaging damaging her. You are diminishing her by involving her in this. A painter can only paint what he is. You will prevent her from being a great painter.’
He is raving, thought Mor. But the words wounded him deeply all the same. Why had he been so patient with this maniac? The screaming in the background was rising to a crescendo. He had to raise his voice to be sure that Bledyard could hear him. ‘Leave that to me and to her!’ he said. ‘You are not our keeper. And now enough of this.’
Bledyard went on excitedly, ‘She is young, her life is only beginning beginning, she will have many things -’
‘Oh, shut up, Bledyard!’ said Mor. ‘You only say this because you’re jealous, because you’re in love with her yourself!’
The whistle blew shrilly in the swimming pool. There was an immediate silence. The splashing diminished and ceased. The rain had stopped too, and there was a sudden and startling stillness. Mor bitterly regretted what he had said. Bledyard stood looking at the wall, blinking his eyes, a slightly puzzled and patient expression on his face.
Then Mor heard, very near to him, the sound of voices. The sound came from the other side of the wall. It must have been drowned till now by the din from the swimming pool. There was somebody talking in the next court. Mor and Bledyard looked at one another. For a moment they listened. Then Mor strode back to the corridor and stepped into the second squash court, followed by Bledyard.
The tableau which confronted them was this. Sprawled with his back against the wall, one long leg spread out and the other crooked up at the knee, lay Donald Mor. Lying upon the floor with his shoulders supported by Donald’s lifted leg, his own legs crossed and one foot swinging was Jimmy Carde.
The four regarded each other. Then as if jerked from above by pieces of wire the two boys sprang to their feet. They stood erect and attentive, waiting for whatever storm should break.
Mor looked at them and all his pent-up anger broke through. ‘Clear out!’ he said in a low and savage voice. He and Bledyard stood aside. The boys passed between them without a word.
The distant bell could be heard ringing for evening prep. Mor and Bledyard began in silence to climb the path that led towards the school.
Chapter Fourteen
FELICITY began to swim back again towards the shore with long slow strokes. The sea was dead calm. She swam breast stroke, very steadily, trying to break the surface as little as possible. The water kissed her chin like oil. The sun warmed her forehead and dried the drops of moisture from her cheeks. It was a declining sun, but still triumphantly in possession of the sky. The coast was deserted. Felicity was in a rocky bay where at low tide there was revealed a great expanse of rounded boulders heaped at the base of the cliff. At high tide the water covered them and there was no way. Beyond the headland on either side were stretches of sand and there the holiday-makers had congregated. But here there was no one. This was very important just at the moment as Felicity was about to perform a magic ceremony.
Felicity had realized at an early age that she must be psychic. She had discovered a witch mark upon her body. This was a very small protuberance a little below the nipple of her left breast which was not at all like an ordinary mole. It rather resembled an extra nipple. Felicity knew that witches were provided with these so that they could be sucked by their familiars; and although she was not altogether attracted by the idea of furnishing this sort of hospitality to some being from the other world she was pleased to discover that she was undoubtedly gifted in this special way and she waited with interest for further manifestations.
So far nothing very remarkable had happened. Felicity was without information about the moment at which witches properly came of age. There had been, it was true, the advent of Angus - but Angus, although he could at times be very strange and startling to Felicity, manifested himself always, with a sort of modesty which she realized to be characteristic of him, in some form which would not shock the sensibility of the other non-psychic people with whom Felicity was surrounded. Her brother, she had at last to conclude reluctantly, was not psychic. He had pretended for a long time to be aware of Angus, but it was now clear to Felicity that it had been only a pretence. He had also taken part with her in various magic rites - but Felicity had noticed with regret that Donald’s attitude to these ceremonies had been distinctly frivolous. Donald did not possess the patient and meticulous nature required for a magician. He would always forget some detail, and then say that it didn’t matter, or start laughing in the middle. In fact, because of Donald’s non-psychic carelessness, the magic rituals had never yet been carried out with completeness; and lack of completeness in magic is fatal.
Felicity had made a careful study of magic from as many original texts as she could lay her hands on. She was distressed to find, however, that almost every magical ceremony that was likely to be any use at all involved the shedding of blood. Felicity was anxious to fulfil her destiny. On the other hand, the notion of, for instance, holding an immaculate white cock between her knees, decapitating it, and drinking the blood from her right hand did not attract her in the least. Eventually she decided that since she was patently under a taboo concerning the shedding of blood, she was at liberty to invent her own ceremonies. This, she felt sure, would be pleasing to Angus, who would be deeply offended at any shedding of blood, particularly animal blood. Angus was very fond of animals. Whether Angus would have liked a human sacrifice Felicity for practical reasons did not specially consider. She had therefore begun to compose her own rites — and on one New Year’s Eve had written, under inspiration, a small compendium of various rituals some of which she had vainly attempted with Donald’s assistance to perform.
Now for the first time Felicity intended to carry out one of these rituals by herself and to carry it out in its entirety. She had decided to wait, before putting her plan into operation, for a manifestation of Angus. Angus had been some time in turn
ing up. That morning, however, she had seen him. He had taken the form of a man on stilts, with very long blue and white check trousers and a top hat. She had met him quite suddenly round the comer of a lane. He was making his way towards a fair which was being held in some fields half a mile farther on. He said nothing, but raised his hat solemnly to Felicity. It was quite early and no one else was about. The sudden appearance of this very tall figure startled Felicity very much for a moment. But then she guessed its identity and immediately ran home to start making her preparations.
This was one of the direst of the rites and also one of the more complicated ones. The paraphernalia had all been col lected beforehand and now lay spread out on top of a large flat rock which was just at the water’s edge. For this particular ceremony it was necessary to choose a place beside water and a time when the sun and the moon were both in the sky at once. Fortunately the moon was rising early and its appearance coincided roughly with low tide. All this Felicity took as a good omen. It was nearly eight o‘clock and there was still a strong light from the sun which was now low down over the headland. The moon was large and pallid, the colour and consistency of cream cheese, risen just above the sea. Felicity climbed out on to the rock, keeping her dripping body well away from the magical apparatus. Her swim had not been recreational. It formed part of the rite. A purificatory wash was essential; also the wearing of a seamless and sleeveless garment. Felicity’s bathing-costume did duty as the latter. She dried herself thoroughly with a new and hitherto unused towel which she had bought that morning.