Mystical Paths (43 page)

XII

It was well after six when we left the car on Albemarle Street; we had stopped for coffee during the journey. Lewis, wanting to signal to Perry that all admissions would be held in confidence, was wearing a dark suit with a black stock and clerical collar. I was wearing my black trousers, taken reluctantly from my wardrobe the previous Sunday, and a black jacket which had been lent to me by Father Wilton. This unusual ascent into conventional clothes was the result of Lewis’s insistence that we would dine at a Jermyn Street restaurant after calling on Perry. I still had my white shirt open at the neck but Lewis had brought his old school tie for me to wear later.

We had already agreed that I was to open the interrogation in order to give Perry time to adjust to Lewis’s presence. We were operating on the assumption that Perry would be reticent but not hostile.

‘This is essentially a good-natured clam,’ I said as we moved into the forecourt of Albany. ‘I think you’ll like him. He’s very pleasant and civilised.’

The uniformed doorman stepped forward to meet us but waved us on when Lewis said we had come to see Mr Palmer. We entered the Rope Walk.

It was now six-thirty, the hour when Perry was most likely to be pausing to relax after work before leaving for an evening engagement. But I was still worried that he might be either working late at the office or out drinking at a cocktail party, and my anxiety increased when no one answered the doorbell.

Lewis rang the bell a second time but again there Was no reply.

‘Third time lucky,’ he commented phlegmatically as I groaned in an agony of suspense, but before he could press the bell again the door began to open.

The next moment Perry stood revealed on the threshold but I hardly recognised him.

He looked as if he were terminally ill.

FOUR

‘If we are right in taking the Jungian concept of the Self, in its dual

character as both the total personality and the personality centre, as the

key to an understanding of the way God acts upon us and makes himself

known to us, then it will follow inevitably that being estranged

from God will mean being unaware of and out of touch with the heights

and depths of 0ur personality; it will mean being estranged from our centre

and unable to live our own truth.’

CHRISTOPHER BRYANT

Member of the Society of St J0hn the Evangelist 1935-1985

The River Within

I

I took a step backwards. Uncertainly I murmured: ‘Perry?’ but found I had no idea what to say next. I was aware that Lewis was motionless beside me.

‘Nick,’ whispered Perry. He passed a hand over his forehead. ‘Good God, how extraordinary, I’ve been thinking of you. Christ, how odd everything’s become, how crazy, how .. . Well, never mind, come in, excuse me looking beaten up but I seem to have hit a rough patch, nothing’s quite ... But come in, always nice to see you, come in and have a drink.’

‘Thanks,’ said my voice. ‘We won’t stay long, but if you could spare us a few minutes —’ I broke off. Having stepped into the hall I found that the atmosphere was horrific, psychically searing, conjuring up images of decay and clotted blood, and I could see clearly now that Perry looked like a rotting corpse, his smooth face gaunt, his skin grey, his eyes sunk deep in his skull. As he closed the front door I noticed his hand was shaking. Again he had to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

‘Sorry, Nick,’ he said, ‘sorry, everything’s rather a wreck, not my usual self, but nothing to worry about, tomorrow I’m going to start eating again and then I’ll be fine. Who’s your friend?’

As I groped for the conventional response Lewis introduced himself and held out his hand. ‘Wait a minute,’ said Perry, looking at it, and at last I realised how drunk he was. Wait a minute. A clergyman. Do I know you? Are you connected with the Aysgarths?’

‘No, but I’m from Starbridge.’

‘Any relation to that Hall who was at Winchester in the early ‘forties?’

‘No.’

‘Ah.’ Perry took Lewis’s hand but dropped it as if the effort of behaving normally had exhausted him. Well, never mind, I’m used to clergymen because of the Aysgarths, so come in, come in ... Whisky?’

‘Very nice,’ said Lewis. ‘Thanks.’

The atmosphere in the high-ceilinged, old-fashioned drawing-room was equally appalling, lifeless as concrete but permeated by a rancid, fetid miasma which I found revolting. But there was no odour in the room other than cigarette smoke. This stench was one no nose could ever smell.

‘I don’t have any Rose’s lime juice, Nick —’

‘That’s okay, Perry. Whisky will do.’ I never normally drank whisky. But then I had never before experienced such psychic pollution. I hardly knew what I said.

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Lewis, suddenly exuding great charm, ‘but could I possibly have some ice?’

During the Chianti-swilling dinner with Rachel he had deplored the American habit of drinking whisky on the rocks. I began to wonder if we were all mad.

‘Of course,’ said Perry. ‘No problem, as the Yanks say, no problem. I’ll just go to the kitchen to get it — sit down, sit down, sorry it’s all such a mess, I’m not very organised atpresent, couldn’t get to work, all so odd but just a temporary malaise, must be, that’s the only logical explanation and I’m a deeply logical man, wholly rational, devoted to positive logicalism — I mean logical positivism — Christ, I’ve got to get myself together, excuse me.’

He blundered out into the hall and we heard his footsteps stumbling down the stairs to the basement. The atmosphere lightened. I sank down stupefied on the sofa.

‘Okay,’ said Lewis in a low voice. ‘Change of plan. Leave this entirely to me.’

‘Lewis, the
atmosphere —
’

‘
There could be a number of reasons for that. Keep calm and don’t jump to conclusions.’ As he spoke he was moving through the communicating door into the dining-room, and the next moment he had paused by the table. When I followed him I saw his eyes were closed.

‘Lewis, what is it? What’s happening? Why are you —’

‘Shhh.’ He returned to the drawing-room. Meanwhile Perry had begun his return journey with the ice-tray, and as we heard his footsteps on the stairs Lewis said in a low voice: ‘Concentrate on looking relaxed.’

By the time Perry re-entered the room I was sprawled on the sofa with one leg crossed over the other, and Lewis, sedate in his clerical suit, was standing with his hands in his pockets before the unlit gas fire.

‘I’m sorry to descend on you without warning, Mr Palmer,’ he said, ‘but it suddenly occurred to me that you might be able to help us.’

‘Fine, but call me Perry, won’t you, why not, same generation if I’m not mistaken, I’m forty-one, you look about forty-five, same generation. Suppose we ought to be calling each other "Palmer" and "Hall", but that tradition’s dying out, isn’t it, and now it’s all Christian names — oh God, Christian, Christian, Christian — Nick, ever since you came here last Friday ... Yes, that’s when I date it from, that’s when it all started, it’s all so bloody odd and Norman Aysgarth always said
you
were so bloody odd — did you put some sort of spell on me when you came? No, don’t answer that, of course you didn’t, I don’t believe in magic, I’m rational. Here you are, Hall – what did you say your first name was?’

‘Lewis. Thanks, Perry. Has this phenomenon been getting steadily worse?’

‘Yes, couldn’t eat, only drink, extraordinary, but I’m sure I’ll get better soon. Well, cheers, everyone.’ He raised a tumbler of neat whisky and drank deeply. ‘That’s better,’ he said, coming up for air. ‘That’s much better. Now I can think. Well, Nick, well, Lewis, how can I help you?’

‘As you know, Nicholas has been troubled about Christian,’ said Lewis fluently, ‘and he decided to talk to me about the matter because he knew he could trust a priest to hold everything he said in the strictest confidence.’

‘Marvellous. Not a church-goer myself, but ... marvellous. Always admired first-class clergymen – old Aysgarth – a great man. Go on.’

‘Nicholas no longer thinks Christian committed suicide.’

‘Oh, good. Wizard. God, how that word "wizard" takes me back! Do you remember, Lewis, when everyone used to exclaim "wizard prang"? Before Nick’s time, of course. There was "topping" and there was "ripping" and there was "wizard" – and now there’s "fab". Amazing thing, slang. And the Americans! My God! I met a PanAm steward last week who ... wait a minute, I’m wandering – sorry, got to concentrate. Nick no longer thinks Christian committed suicide, you said.’

‘No. That’s because he saw Christian last Monday.’

There was a crash of smashing glass as Perry dropped his tumbler in the fireplace.

II

‘One of us is crazy,’ said Perry, ‘and contrary to all the evidence I don’t think it’s me. Or maybe it
is
me, maybe I’m imagining you both, maybe this whole scene is a grand prelude to a long holiday in a lunatic asylum.’ Ignoring the broken glass he sank down in the nearest chair.

‘You think Nicholas is mistaken?’ said Lewis with interest as the room began to reek of whisky. He spoke as if the subject under discussion was an unusual weather forecast.

‘
Mistaken!
Well, of course he’s mistaken!’ Turning to me he added unevenly: ‘Nick, Christian’s dead. Okay, I admit I didn’t see him die, but if he’d survived that fall overboard I’d have found him, I swear I would ... Lewis, could you please pour , me some brandy from that decanter on the right?’

Lewis moved to the sideboard.

‘I must have been mistaken,’ I said quickly, ‘although at the time –’ I stopped. Behind Perry’s chair Lewis was holding up a hand warning me to say no more.

‘There was no inquest, was there,’ he said, handing Perry the drink. ‘I can only remember reading about the accident directly after it happened.’

‘That’s right. No body, no inquest. The coroner must "have his carcase", as the saying goes.’ Perry was making a mighty effort to regain his composure.

‘And you’re quite sure you’d have found him if he’d survived? I was wondering if he could have been picked up by another boat.’

‘No, that’s impossible – there was no one near us at the time. Even the bloody tanker was probably two miles away.’ ‘What tanker?’

‘The one I think must have caused the freak wave. I can’t prove it because I never saw the brute and so there were no details I could give the coastguard, but some of those foreign supertankers charge up and down the Channel so fast that they create monstrous wakes. They’re a well-known hazard.’

‘But surely you’d have seen a supertanker?’

‘Not if it was two miles away. We wouldn’t have heard it either at that distance.’

‘You’re saying the visibility was poor?’

‘It wasn’t too bad. But there was a haze. Certainly we couldn’t see as far as two miles.’

‘I take it you’re an experienced sailor?’

‘Yes, I’d kept that boat at Bosham for years. A wonderful boat it was, my pride and joy, a thirty-one-foot sloop built by Camper and Nicholson ... Do you know anything about boats?’

‘Nothing at all,’ said Lewis with an apparently genuine regret.

‘Okay, I’ll skip the nostalgic details. They’re all past history now anyway. After the accident I sold the boat and never went near Bosham again.’

‘So despite this first-class boat and all your years of experience –’

‘Oh, they counted for nothing in the end. That was the cruel part about the accident: it was so utterly undeserved. It was a warm June morning and the sea was like a millpond – too much like a millpond, I remember thinking at the time – and it was still early; Christian and I used to leave London at five on those Saturdays, unless we were going as far as France. Then we’d try to get down to Bosham on Friday night, but that wasn’t always possible as Christian could be delayed in leaving Oxford.’

‘So you didn’t plan to go to France on the day of the accident?’

‘No, we were just heading east along the coast.’

‘And what were you actually doing when the wave struck?’

‘Nothing much. We were waiting for some wind, and in fact I was thinking of starting the engine. Christian was in the bow with his field-glasses. He was studying the coast, which was just about visible, and I was at the tiller keeping an eye on the buoyage. Then while we were both looking in the wrong direction this bloody wave slunk up and slammed into us. It must have been at least fifteen feet high and it was a miracle we didn’t capsize. Everything was flung around and wrecked in the galley. I was flung around and pretty well wrecked myself, and as for Christian ... well, he must have lost consciousness, as I did, and drowned soon after hitting the water.’

Weren’t you wearing life-jackets?’

‘Good God, no! They’re for women and children ... Nick, where the hell did you see this person you thought was Christian?’

‘Near Cambridge,’ said Lewis.

‘Cambridge! But he’d never go there – he could barely admit the place existed!’

‘Nicholas thought he might have wanted to begin a new life under another identity.’

‘Balls!’ said Perry, knocking back the brandy.

‘In that case,’ said Lewis, very courteous, ‘what was the purpose of his false passports?’

‘Oh my God!’ cried Perry. ‘Charles Gore and Henry Scott Holland!’ And slamming down his glass he buried his face in his hands.

III

‘Sorry,’ he said, letting his hands fall seconds later. ‘I was just · overcome with exasperation. That idiotic hang-up of Christian’s has caused me nothing but trouble ... Damn it, I’m out of cigarettes, and Nick, I know, doesn’t smoke. Lewis, do you by any chance –’

Lewis gave him a cigarette. ‘When you say "idiotic hang-up", what exactly –’

Well, he was nuts, you see – kept saying he was alienated from the ground of his being, out of touch with his true self – he said the Christian Aysgarth identity was a prison and he had to escape from it. But he wasn’t suicidal, Nick,’ said Perry, turning to me, ‘and although he talked of going on a journey, it wasn’t a physical, geographical journey he had in mind. He called it the journey to the centre. He said he wanted to paddle upstream in his canoe towards the source of his own private river – the river of the self – but he kept being swept downstream and smashed against the rocks. The whole concept was allegorical, even religious. I think once he even mentioned God.’

‘Fancy!’ said Lewis, somehow contriving to sound both deeply surprised and mildly gratified. ‘But why are you so certain that he didn’t want to act out this allegorical journey by disappearing into the blue?’

‘Oh, I think he did flirt with the idea, but my point is he would never have done it. Oxford was his life-blood – he loved being a don, loved luxuriating in the academic spotlight. I know his career was going through a bland patch, but if he’d lived he’d have sorted that out.’

‘But just supposing,’ said Lewis, ‘he had indeed been planning to drop out. Would you necessarily have known about it?’

‘I’m quite certain he’d have confided in me. I was one hundred per cent in his confidence.’

‘That’s what Nicholas thought. And that’s why he was tempted to reason that having obtained the false passports you could have taken Christian to France in your boat and faked the effect of a freak wave to support your story of an accident at sea.’

‘But that makes no sense at all!’ cried Perry. ‘Christian was my best friend – I’d have fought tooth and nail to stop him vanishing into the blue!’

I could keep quiet no longer. ‘Then why the false passports?’ I demanded, and although Lewis winced at such an aggressive approach Perry answered willingly enough: ‘I told you – he was nuts. But I was providing him with therapy.’