The Book and the Brotherhood (42 page)

The telephone began ringing in the hall. Patricia opened the door. ‘It’s Rose, wanting you.’

‘Oh
hell
,’ said Gerard, and went out closing the door behind him.

Rose’s voice was anxious and apologetic. ‘Oh, my dear – are you all right?’

‘Of course I’m all right!’

‘I’m terribly sorry I didn’t ring sooner, I’m away from the flat – I’ve had a rather odd morning, I’ll tell you later. I would have rung sooner only I couldn’t find a telephone box. How did it go?’

‘How did what go?’

‘Your talk with Crimond!’

‘It’s still going on.’

‘Can’t you get rid of him? Is it –?’

‘Rose, could you ring later on sometime? Sorry, I must go now.’ He put down the telephone and hurried back into the dining room.

Crimond had got up and was studying one of the pictures representing a geisha in a boat.

‘Don’t go, David. Do sit down.’

Crimond was looking more relaxed. Enlivened by the
argument he looked younger and less tired. ‘Did Rose think I’d done you a mischief?’

‘She was anxious!’

‘I hope I’ve dealt an intellectual wound.’

‘Not yet!’

‘I have to go soon –’

‘Sit down.’

They sat down. There was a moment’s silence.

‘You were saying all
we
can do –’

‘Yes,’ said Crimond, ‘we’ve got to understand suffering, express suffering, see it, breathe it –’

‘“The whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together –
until now.
”’

‘Yes –’

‘You don’t imagine you can abolish suffering!’

‘You should reflect upon the assumptions which underlie that remark!’

‘All right – not all, but most?’

‘Most, much – we’ve got to think about the whole of history, about all the people who went under and were trodden on, and think of it as part of what’s happening now wherever people are crushed or frightened or hungry –’

‘This is self-indulgent rhetoric,’ said Gerard. ‘And as for Marxism, it may not make them hungry, but it certainly makes them frightened!’

‘That’s a cheap point. We have to try to see further and hope more. Right thinking is difficult in a wrong world. We have to think in terms of an entirely new person, a new consciousness, a new capacity for
happiness
, a kind of happiness the human race hasn’t yet dreamt of. The individual you rate so highly, best personified of course in yourself, is just a cripple, half a person, well, he was half once, now he’s just a whining sliver – and he’s one of the lucky ones. There are immense sources of spiritual energy which are completely untapped –’

‘Your theory is schizophrenic, you talk about a crisis of authority and men being puppets and going through the fire, and the next moment it’s spiritual energy and new people with new happiness – But what happens in between? Your ideas
lead straight into tyranny – and you imagine you can see the ideal society just beyond it! You said you weren’t a utopian –’

‘The utopian impulse is essential, one must keep faith with the idea that a good society is possible –’

‘There is no good society,’ said Gerard, ‘not like you think, society can’t be perfected, the best we can hope for is a decent society, the best we can achieve is what we’ve achieved now, human rights, individual rights, and trying to use technology to feed people. Of course things can improve, there can be less hunger and more justice, but any
radical
change will be for the worse – and your dreams will only make us lose what we have –’

‘Do you seriously mean,’ said Crimond, ‘that you cannot conceive of any social system which is better than western parliamentary democracy?’

‘No. I cannot. Of course there can be –’

‘Yes, yes, little improvements, as you say.’

‘Large improvements. And of course tyrannies can keep people alive who would starve under freedom, but that’s a different point. A free society –’

‘I don’t think you know what freedom means. You imagine it’s just economic tinkering plus individual human rights. But you can’t have freedom when all social relations are wrong, unjust, irrational – when the body of your society is diseased, deformed – we must clear the ground –’

‘A democracy can change itself –’

‘Can you see this bourgeois democracy changing itself? Come! We’ve got to see it all, Gerard, we’ve got to live it all, we’ve got to suffer it all, we’ve got to see how
disjointed
it all is. You think of yourself as an open-minded pluralist – but you’ve got a simple compact little philosophy of life, all unified, all tied up comfortably together, a few soothing ideas which let you off thinking! But we must think – and that’s what’s such hell, philosophy is hell, it’s contrary to nature, it hurts so, one must make a shot at the whole thing and that means failing too, not really being able to connect, and not pretending that things fit when they don’t – and keeping hold of the things that
don’t fit, keeping them whole and clear in their almost-fittingness – oh God, it’s so hard –’

‘You mean your book –’ said Gerard. He had been on the point of becoming angry and was restraining himself. The return to the book was an escape route.

‘Oh – the book –’ said Crimond. He stood up and began to rub his eyes. ‘Yes, it’s hell – one needs that last bit of bloody courage which takes you on past your best possible formulation into – oh –’

‘I look forward to reading it,’ said Gerard, rising too. He was feeling exhausted. ‘One thing does puzzle me though, why you want to call all this rigmarole Marxism. Of course I know that Marx’s early utopian ideas are all the fashion now – But why put yourself inside that conceptual cage?’

‘The cage – yes – the cage – but it’s not that cage – it’s not like you think. Well – well – I’d like to persuade you, I’d like to persuade
you
. I could teach you a lot of things. I haven’t many people to talk to now. Of course you’re not ideal because you know so little. But I find it easy to talk to you – perhaps for historical reasons.’

‘I wonder if you’d like to talk to the committee?’ This idea has just occurred to Gerard.

‘Would they listen? No – it’s not a good idea. I don’t mind talking to you, but –’

‘Think it over. Thank you for coming.’

They went out into the hall and Crimond put on his coat and scarf. He drew a rolled-up cap out of his coat pocket and held it. There was an awkwardness, as if they were about to shake hands. Gerard opened the door, upon which, during their discussion, Patricia had hung a holly wreath. Crimond set off quickly and did not look back. Gerard closed the door and leaned against it.

The ‘rather odd morning’ which Rose had mentioned on the telephone to Gerard had been spent with Jean. In becoming more and more anxious about her friend, Rose’s feelings had been painfully mixed up. She did not write to Jean because Crimond might read the letter and somehow blame Jean. She could not just ‘call in’, risking an encounter with Crimond; nor did it make any sense to telephone for even if Jean answered, she could hardly talk to Rose with Crimond nearby, and if she was alone she might still not wish to talk, might be abrupt, even putting the telephone down, thereby upsetting Rose very much indeed. Rose did not want to force Jean suddenly to choose between rudeness to Rose and disloyalty to Crimond. Perhaps this precluded any approach at all. Quite apart from these more mechanical problems Rose was troubled about her own purposes and motives. Any communication with Jean might make difficulties at that end. Crimond was certainly suspicious, possessive, possibly violent. Rose would be taken to be an emissary of Gerard, perhaps of Duncan. It was such a delicate matter. Ought not Rose to be resigned to not seeing Jean and to knowing nothing? But Rose did not like knowing nothing. Was this because of concern for Jean’s welfare, or out of curiosity? Rose very much wanted to talk to Jean to find out
what was going on.
She wanted to
see
Jean, to look at the woman who now belonged to Crimond. She wanted inside information to pass on to Gerard. She wanted to assess the likelihood of Jean’s return to Duncan, and also to find out if there was any way in which she could
help
Jean. With Gerard she had imagined many possible situations, by herself probably every possible situation. Jean might need outside help to escape, or at least to be resolute enough to envisage escaping. She needed, surely, a signal from her friends, evidence of continued love, perhaps simply to be told that Duncan longed for her to come back. If the opposite were the case and she needed no such support and assistance, that was important too. Rose and Gerard would have to decide what, if anything, to say to Duncan. Also of course Rose wanted information because she wanted information, the whole thing was so
interesting
. What decided her at last to make a move was however simply her
desire to be with Jean again, to take her in her arms and kiss her.

The occasion was presented as soon as Rose knew that on a certain day at a certain time Crimond was to be with Gerard. Rose’s plan was to drive to South London early, find a telephone box near to Crimond’s house, and when she was sure Crimond must have left, to telephone Jean and say she was very near and could she drop in for a minute. The plan worked. Jean said curtly ‘Yes’, and a few minutes later Rose was in the house.

Now they were downstairs in what Crimond called the Playroom, Rose sitting on her coat, which she had slipped off, on the divan, and Jean, facing her, on a chair drawn over from the desk. Their meeting at the door had been emotional but not effusive. They gripped each other’s arms, turning quickly away without an embrace.

The Playroom was darkish except for two shaded lamps, one on the desk, the other perched on a pile of books on one of the tables. The room was cold and smelt of paraffin. Jean looked thinner, looked tired, seemed to be wearing no makeup, was dressed in a dark blue woollen dress and a brown cardigan and had just taken off an apron. She looked well however and beautiful, her dark hair more shaggy, longer, less neat, her dark eyes fierce. She had what Rose had once called her Jewish heroine look. Rose now felt, confronting her, almost afraid, at a loss, ready to cry, afraid too that Jean might suddenly weep angry ferocious savage tears. It had proved so far difficult to make conversation.

‘I was at Boyars in the snowy weather. The meadow was frozen.’

‘Did you skate?’

‘Yes. Lily Boyne was there. She skates very well. I was surprised.’

‘I don’t see why you should be surprised.’

‘No – I suppose not – I just didn’t expect it.’

‘How’s Tamar?’

‘Not well. She’s eating very little and looks unhappy.’

‘Can’t you do anything?’

‘I try. She came to see you, I believe.’

‘I assume you arranged it.’

‘Well – would you like to see her again?’

‘No.’

‘She’s very fond of you. Doesn’t he like you having visitors?’

‘Why did you come?’ said Jean.

‘To see you. And to see if there was anything in the world I could do for you.’

‘There is nothing.’

After a moment’s silence Rose said, ‘Will he come straight back after he leaves?’

‘Will who come straight back after he leaves where?’

‘Will Crimond come straight back here when he leaves Gerard?’

‘Is he with Gerard?’

‘Yes! Didn’t you know?’

‘He doesn’t always say where he’s going,’ said Jean, ‘I don’t ask. I don’t know whether he’ll come straight back.’

‘You don’t seem to know much about him.’

‘I don’t know everything about him.’

Jean, her hands on her knees, sat staring at Rose, waiting for the next question, as in an interrogation.

‘Does Crimond shoot at that target?’

‘He used to.’

‘I remember he was a marksman, he won some prize. I hope he’s not preparing for a revolution.’

‘I think he’s amusing himself.’

‘What do you do?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean both of you, what do you do all day, do you stay here, do you travel, do you entertain, do you visit people, do you go to concerts, are you happy?’

‘We’re mostly here,’ said Jean, ‘we don’t “entertain”, people sometimes come.’

‘Do you discuss his work?’

‘We discuss all sorts of things, but if you mean the book, no, not that.’

‘The book really exists?’

‘Of course. It’s over there. You can look at it if you like.’

Rose looked toward the desk, where the lamp showed a pile of different-coloured notebooks, one open. She felt a superstitious aversion to looking at the book. ‘No, thank you –’

‘You imagine I’m unhappy, perhaps you hope I’m unhappy.’

‘No,’ said Rose, ‘I just thought you might be bored.’ She had begun to feel they were talking in their sleep, not communicating at all, wasting precious time. Now Jean frowned and the atmosphere became tenser and more alert. Rose went on, in the new tension and sense of closeness, to say something which she had resolved to say, felt she must say, even rehearsed. ‘Duncan loves you. He wants you back. We all love you, we miss you. I wish you’d come back.’

Jean seemed to reflect on these words but replied only, ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you all, I’m not bored and I’m not unhappy. I have never been more
completely
happy in my life. If you want a message to carry back, there it is.’

‘You left Crimond last time, there must have been reasons.’

‘I have a kind of happiness which I think you’ve never known or dreamt of.’

‘Have you
forgotten
your love for Duncan? You did love him, surely you do love him?’

‘Last time was different. I wasn’t then able to conceive of a
complete
removal of my being, a
complete
change. I’ve
grown
into that ability in the time between. It’s a meeting with an absolute. When you can see what is perfect, what is imperfect falls away, it withers. Now, it’s face to face, not in a glass darkly. One cannot dispute, one cannot resist.’

‘And apparently one cannot explain.’

‘One cannot explain.’

‘Forgive me,’ said Rose, ‘I wanted so much to talk to you, and there’s so little time, I’m saying a lot of things very badly. I must go before Crimond comes back. Gerard said he’d give him an hour –’