Jackson's Dilemma (12 page)

 

On the next morning, Benet awoke early to a beautiful blue sky. His head upon the pillow, he smiled. He sat up, noticed the lamp was on the floor, got up and rescued it, still intact. Then suddenly he remembered what had happened last night. He stood quiet for a while. Then he dressed and went downstairs, trying all the lights. They were just as before, intact upstairs, dead downstairs. It occurred to him to try the cellar. The cellar lights were dead too. He stood in the hall. He went into the kitchen, which he had not entered last night. To his surprise the kitchen was intact. He made some coffee. He had intended to go back to Penndean. He wandered out into the hall. He must do something, he must find some expert, he couldn’t leave the poor house in this crazy state. He sat down to think, but soon started reading
The Times.

He heard something, a fumbling at the front door, then a soft knock and knuckles on wood. He went to the door and opened it. The man was there. Benet said, ‘Do you know anything about electricity?’

‘Yes.’

‘Come in.’

That was how it began.

 

The newcomer, having gone out to fetch the requirements (he evidently knew the neighbourhood) dealt with the mysterious unruly lights while Benet sat fuming in the drawing room.

‘All done. Would you like to see?’

‘No, thank you. What do I owe you?’

The man drew a piece of paper, already prepared, from his pocket, and handed it over, while Benet opened his wallet and presented the suitable notes.

‘Thank you. Perhaps I can assist you on other occasions?’

Benet, now opening the front door, did not reply to the question. He murmured ‘Goodbye’, his useful visitor passed through, Benet closed the door promptly behind him.

After the visitation Benet wandered, hurried, stumbling about the house talking to himself - he had made a gross senseless blunder, such as
anyone
could see, by letting a complete stranger, possibly a talented burglar, go about all over his house
alone
- he ought to have followed him, instead of which he had shut himself up so as not to see what the fellow was doing! He might be anything, a clever solitary, or a member of a gang, or - good heavens - some sort of mad person - Benet had not even checked the work he had done, if he had done work - and what was easier than to pretend to be a penniless beggar! It took some time for Benet to calm down. He checked the lights, he inspected the cellar, he
looked
about the house, seeing (but could he be sure?) nothing taken. Then he began to think. Uncle Tim had been alone with the chap - but what had passed between them, had he bewitched Uncle Tim? Should Benet ask Uncle Tim? Surely not. Should he go and live in another house? So he was
afraid
of the return of this visitor? Would he have to stay here at Tara indefinitely? At last he carefully locked up the house, the summer-house, the garage and fled back to the country.

 

Back at Penndean he did not mention the episode to Uncle Tim, but he found himself perpetually meditating upon it. He began to make a memory picture of the man but found it difficult. He was wearing a white shirt - or was it white? Was it open at the neck? Dark hair, certainly no tie. He was, now, ‘decently dressed’. He was slightly taller than Benet, rather slim and upright, like a
soldier,
as he had imagined on his first sighting. On the occasion of the key he had refused money, he had, to make this clear, actually reached out his hand, laying it on Benet’s hand - his fingers touching the back of Benet’s hand. He had touched Benet. Well, what did that mean - a gesture of love? Impossible! He had been closer then than now. Well, Benet’s emotion - was there emotion - had soon passed! Yet perhaps the emotion had built up later on: the dream, the return to the river. And why had Benet not now taken the so recent opportunity of talking to the fellow, who he was, what was, his name, was he married, was he an out-of-work actor or something, almost anything could have made some sort of connection! Had he been in the army? He stood up as at attention. What about his voice - a northern accent? No. A foreign accent? He seemed to have some air of authority - well, authority, had it come as far as imagining that! Perhaps he played this game with innumerable people, pursuing them, forcing himself upon them as a handyman, a jack-of-all-trades, so becoming essential - the out-of-work actor story might be the most attractive, easy to palm off upon well-endowed recently married young couples! Yet, ultimately, was he a thief, a professional burglar, working for some sinister syndicate?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Down at Penn, time passed, Uncle Tim was ill and got better, Benet read Holderlin and wrote a little poetry, or ‘poetry’, himself. He walked about the garden and discussed with Clun and the girls the best site for the Grecian building with columns and swimming pool. However, as everything was looking so beautiful now, he was secretly anxious to postpone this ambitious novelty, whose erection would involve so much violent work with digging and bull-dozers! At least anyone who had studied Benet at that period could have taken him to be reasonably serene. In fact, at this time Benet, still enjoying not being a Civil Servant any more, was considering various trips, to France, to Spain, to Italy, to Greece. In fact his journey, curtailed by the activities of Edward and Marian, went only as far as Italy. And there he had a curious, not exactly ‘vision’, but ‘interlude’.

 

He was in Venice, where he had quite often been, walking along in the morning sunshine. He had been several times to the Accademia, and was now walking along the Zattere. The light upon the waters, white, gold, pale blue, glinted in his eyes, he was tired and wanted to sit down, on a seat, in a church, but there seemed to be nowhere just now to rest. He had foolishly brought no hat with him. The sun was shining, it was becoming very hot, for this time of year ridiculously hot. Benet began to wonder where he was. Then he was aware of someone walking behind him. He checked his pace to let the other pass. However the other did not pass, altering his or her pace to Benet’s. Benet went slower still, and was about to stop. He then became aware of someone, a man, not passing him but walking beside him on his left. The stranger then turned his head towards Benet, seeming to smile at him. Benet glanced annoyed, then anxiously, the brilliant waters still flashing into his eyes. The walker, about as tall as Benet, seemed to be in black, a black figure, perhaps, it occurred to Benet, a monk. But no, it could not be a monk. All this Benet took in in a second. He was troubled by the stranger’s silence, and wished he could find somewhere to shake him off, but there seemed, just at present, to be no kind of refuge, and nobody else about. They walked on. At last Benet, still walking, turned round abruptly to survey his curious partner. He instantly felt something pass through him, as of an electric shock. His companion was a man, dressed in dark ordinary clothes. He was turning to Benet, in fact not exactly smiling, but, as he walked, surveying Benet with what seemed a gaze of tender affection. Had Benet met him before? Benet could not in fact see him very clearly because of the exceptional light which was rising up out of the water. He perceived that the stranger had a flash of white at his neck, perhaps a shirt or frill, and that he was carrying a glove.

Still walking and turning his head Benet then saw a young man with dark thick straight hair which fell almost to his shoulders and was cut across his brow by a fringe, while large dark beautiful eyes gently engaged with Benet and lips poised as if to speak. At that moment Benet felt that he was going to faint. He struggled as if against a power to which he must soon succumb. He turned his head away. He saw that he was passing a church on his right hand, and turned abruptly away from his companion, strode quickly, almost falling, into the church.

 

Once inside he walked several steps and then sat down. The church was empty. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, holding his brow. Some time passed. It was cooler inside the church. Opening his eyes Benet, breathing deeply, settling himself back, gazed about inside the empty church. He wondered if he had actually fainted. He attempted to construct what had happened - did such weird things occur? Of course they did. But this one, was it really anything at all? Was it possible that he had had a visitation or a sort of vision? He was slowly going into a swoon, it was just as well that he had not fallen over. The church was real. He coughed twice, persuading himself of his returning reality. However there was, he began to realise, even more to his strange swoon than he had at first realised. Yes, there had been his mirage of another person, walking by his side, a young man with dark fringed hair and beautiful eyes carrying a glove. It was already fading, and he struggled to retain it. But there had been more which he had not, when he had rushed into the church, remembered, there were even many things, besides the walking stranger. Or had he brought these things with him? Could he not now sober up and remember? Or was it just the pictures? Though why just the pictures - were they not real people? Yet also somehow present. If he could only make out how it was all present to him, things which he himself had in some sense, and out of the past, made real. Though not as real, he thought, as the beautiful young man. Perhaps the young man had been their shepherd. But as they seemed to formulate he shuddered also. He felt like Tobias walking with the Angel. Was this an image of his walking with him, the youth, who must not fade? Then as he closed his eyes other things grew about him, and he saw them, Pharaoh’s daughter lifting Moses out of the reeds, Saint Margaret surrounded by terrible serpents, running barefoot holding up her crucifix. And then weeping people carrying a corpse, the terrible heaviness of the dead Christ. Benet stood up, took some steps, then sat again. Were these strange and dreadful images brought somehow to him by that youth, who, leaving him, had passed on? Or was the whole thing a complete farrago of sick nonsensical illusions brought upon him by the heat and the flashing movements of the water? Of course the lovely youth was a phantasm, simply the sudden preface of a sickening mental disturbance. Yet why had just these things come? Benet got up again. He must get back to his hotel as quickly as possible, fortunately it was not far off.

In fact Benet recovered fairly soon from his curious ‘attack’, which he attributed to the sun, the water, and walking without a hat. Yet, with his rationality, certain reflections remained, and he spoke of the matter with no one. He was not sure that he remembered all the pieces of the ‘picture-show’, or whether they had come to him later, and that during his rapid recovery he was binding them up. He thought about Moses and Saint Margaret and snakes, Tobias and the Angel he had perhaps invented later. Other things, weeping people, the Virgin dropping her head in horror at the Annunciation - well, were not these things everywhere? At any rate he hastily left Venice for Paris where he stayed only to see a particular exhibition. Back in England he went straight to Uncle Tim. He found Tim in bed and a doctor in the house. The doctor (a new young fellow called George Park) alarmed Benet, then tried to reassure him. Actually Tim himself recovered remarkably when Benet appeared and Benet blamed himself for having so frivolously stayed away for so long. He stayed then for some time at Penndean, though Tim constantly encouraged him to go to Tara. It was high summer, apd the gardens at Penn were so beautiful, and for that too Benet lingered. He could work of course because he had left, before departing, all his Heidegger work at Penn, and anyway Mildred and Elizabeth were keeping an eye on Tara. At last he began to feel a yearning for London and for the British Library and the Parthenon frieze where Mildred once had a vision. Taking some of his work with him he drove to London and to Tara. Dear Tara, how had he left it for so long! Silence. Well, what did he expect? He prowled about the house. He checked the lights which were all sound. Of course Mildred must have been in, he must ring her up. His study was quiet, neat, as he had left it. He set out on the desk the books which he had brought with him. Here now he could work. He slept well that night and on the succeeding night. He thought, of course Tim must come herel Why have I kept him away? On the third day, in the afternoon Benet began to feel uneasy. He was remembering something which he could not quite recollect, he was having
dark thoughts,
he was
returning
to dark thoughts. He thought, as a man I have no substance, I wish I had been in the war! He thought darkly about his childhood. He also started to recall that curious
stroke
in Venice, which was now becoming so shadowy. He felt sudden anxiety about Tim. He must bring Tim to Tara, or else go back to Penn. He must go tomorrow. He felt suddenly confused, as if his heart were running too fast.

The front door bell rang. Benet thought first - Tim is here! Then in a second he knew. He went to the door. The man was standing outside. Benet said nothing. The man said, ‘So sorry to bother you, I just wondered-’

Benet said, ‘Come inside.’ This sounded a more peremptory invitation than ‘come in.’

The man evidently thought so too, since for a moment he looked surprised, even alarmed.

He stepped into the hall. Benet banged the door. They stared at each other. Benet said, ‘What do you want?’

The man hesitated, then said cautiously ‘I’d like to be helpful, if you’d need any help, I can do many kinds of things -’

Benet said, ‘Go in here,’ pointing to the drawing room. The man reflected, then walked into the drawing room in front of Benet, over to the fireplace where he turned round abruptly, gazing at Benet not with hostility, but with caution.

Benet sat down upon the sofa which was facing the fireplace. He pointed to a nearby upright chair. The man sat down, slightly moving the chair so that he could face Benet. Benet felt a curious shock looking into the man’s rather intense dark eyes. His dark sleek hair fell over his forehead. He seemed to be young - but probably older than he seemed.