The Green Knight (52 page)

Peter continued. ‘I said in my letter that there was one small favour which I was going to ask.'

Lucas nodded again.

‘Well, now, this favour, may I – ?'

Lucas said, ‘Go on.'

Peter suddenly stood up.

Startled out of the hypnotic state which the ‘contest' had induced in him Clement rose too. Lucas said to Clement sharply, ‘Sit down.' Clement sat down.

Peter then picked up his chair and, holding it in one hand, walked round the desk. He put the chair down beside Lucas's chair, but sideways to it and close against it. He sat down. Lucas turned his head towards him.

Peter then said to Lucas, ‘Please take off your jacket and your shirt and – '

Clement rose again and took several paces forward. He thought, Peter Mir has
gone mad.

Lucas, and Clement could see a strange smile upon his face, took off his glasses, took off his jacket, then his shirt and his vest, tossing them away behind him, still facing his interlocutor.

What happened then seemed to Clement to occur in a dream, in a hypnotic vision, or another dimension. He stood paralysed and spellbound. He saw that Peter was holding in his left hand his familiar green umbrella. Peter's right hand had seized the slightly curving handle of the umbrella. He drew it away. Out of the inside of the shaft, materialising quietly, not suddenly, but as if by magic, there appeared a long gleaming steel knife. Clement did not move, he could not. Lucas, looking down at the knife, did not move either. He looked back at Peter. The other part of the umbrella fell to the floor with a soft sound. Peter now looked down toward the point of the knife. With his left hand he gently touched Lucas's side. Then he advanced the knife and thrust it in between the ribs.

Clement tried to move, he tried to cry out, he uttered an incoherent sound. He fell to his knees, then stretching out his hands lay prone on the floor in a dead faint.

 

‘Pull him up onto the chair, get his head down between his knees, that's right, leave it to me.'

Clement felt sick, he felt he was suffocating, a black canopy was hovering above his head, his eyes were blinded by something, perhaps tears, he uttered sounds, protesting incoherently as Peter's large strong hand, gripping his neck, thrust his head down. The pressure was removed. He sat up, his head drooping. Peter caught hold of him again as he was about to fall from the chair. He lifted his head and sat open-mouthed, gasping, breathing deeply, seeing in a haze the faces of Peter and Lucas bent solicitously towards him. He heard Peter's voice saying, ‘He's all right now, he hasn't hurt himself. You haven't hurt yourself, have you, Clement?'

Clement, not sure whether this was true or not, murmured, ‘No, no – ' He saw, as if reflected in a round mirror, Lucas standing near, smiling, holding his shirt in his hand. There was a small red smear upon Lucas's side.

Sitting steady on the chair Clement was able to see, now clearly, the two of them, smiling at him and actually
laughing.
‘You are all right, aren't you?' said Lucas. ‘You came quite a cropper.'

‘I am perfectly well, thank you,' said Clement, looking with amazement as Lucas dabbed his side with his shirt and then put the shirt on. Clement said to Lucas, ‘Are
you
all right?'

Lucas replied, ‘Yes, very much so.' He and Peter began laughing again.

Clement looked about him. There was no sign of the long knife. He saw Peter's green umbrella lying innocently on the floor, now in front of the desk. What had happened, what had he
seen
?

Ignoring Clement now, and moving away from him, the two were talking to each other. Lucas was saying, ‘I always knew that you were something of an artist.'

Peter said, ‘I was afraid, you know.'

‘I can imagine that. You are a brave man. It was well done.'

‘I needed you – to make this – it was necessary – '

‘I entirely understand.'

‘I thought you would.'

‘The sword and the scales have had their day.'

‘That is well put. Of course it was a flaw in my – '

‘In your new being.'

‘Yes. I suppose I ought to have quenched that tiny spark of – '

‘Quite!'

‘Like in a fairy tale, everything is right except for one little thing – '

‘Now it is gone.'

‘With your co-operation.'

‘I said it would be dangerous to get things clear – '

‘But now things are clear. You agree?'

‘Yes.'

Clement listening to this conversation thought again: they are mad, they are behaving like drunks, what on earth are they talking about, what do they mean, it doesn't make sense! It was true that Lucas and Peter, now standing face to face near the desk, were punctuating their elliptical conversation with expressive gestures and frequent bursts of laughter. They seemed indeed to be intoxicated with their subject and enchanted with each other, it was as if at any moment they might start to waltz. At last however they stepped back and gazed at each other. Peter picked up his umbrella and mackintosh and cap.

He said, now visibly exhausted, in a quiet solemn tone, ‘So, I take my leave. We shall meet again. All is well.' He bowed. Lucas bowed. Turning towards the door he seemed suddenly to notice Clement. ‘My dear Clement, how are you, are you feeling better?'

Clement rose to his feet. ‘Oh yes, much better.'

‘Good, good.' He moved towards the door, then turned. ‘I quite forgot something important. I am going to give a party.'

‘A party?' said Clement.

‘Yes, a
party
to celebrate – my recovery, my return to my own house – that shall be quite soon, next week perhaps, I shall send out invitations to you, to you all.'

Lucas stood smiling, then leaning back against his desk, Clement opened the drawing-room door for Peter, then ran before him to open the front door. It was raining. Peter descended the steps, donned his mackintosh and pocketed his cap, and began to put up his umbrella as he waved goodbye.

 

When Clement returned to the drawing-room Lucas was sitting behind his desk, where he had turned on the green-shaded lamp. He had put on his narrow spectacles and was examining his pen. He looked up at Clement as if mildly annoyed at being interrupted. ‘Thank you for coming. Now please go. I must get on with my work.'

Clement picked up his chair and carried it forward and placed it opposite to Lucas. The chair which Peter had lately occupied had been moved back against the wall. The final phase of the argument, or duel between the two mages had taken place standing. Clement now seemed to
remember
this as if it had all taken place long ago.

Leaning his arms on the desk he said to Lucas, ‘What happened?'

‘You saw what happened.' Lucas frowned slightly but did not immediately repeat his dismissal. He removed his glasses and began to clean them on a piece of yellow duster.

‘No, I didn't, I fainted.'

‘Oh yes, of course. Well, nothing happened when you were unconscious except that we rushed forward anxiously to revive you.'

‘Yes, but before – I don't understand. There was a knife, wasn't there, I saw a knife.'

‘There was a knife.'

‘And – I think – I saw blood.'

‘Yes, there was blood. I'll show you. Dear me, this is like doubting Thomas. Do you want to touch me too?' Lucas set down his glasses, turning pulled up his shirt and showed Clement a small red slit between two of his ribs. ‘Is that enough?'

‘But – is it a deep wound? Oughtn't you to go to the doctor? Oh
dear
– '

‘Of course not. Please don't faint again. It was the merest pinprick. A little blood was drawn, that was all.'

‘I thought he was going to kill you.'

‘Did you? It was kind of you to be so upset.'

‘But did you expect – I mean – was it all a show – I mean was it fixed beforehand, did you know – ?'

‘No, of course not! Anything like that would have been senseless.'

‘So he might have killed you. With that long knife, he could – '

‘Well, he was a surgeon once. I'm sure it would have been painless.'

‘Luc, don't
jest
.'

‘I am not jesting. I am just trying to find for you a mode of explanation. In fact there is, now I come to think of it, no reason why I should offer you any explanation. I assume you followed his argument. If you did not you are a fool and better off left in ignorance.'

‘Please, Luc – suppose I hadn't fainted, would he have gone on, would he have killed you?'

‘So you think you saved my life?'

‘
Please
– '

‘I doubt if he ever intended to kill me. But of course I wasn't sure. That was the essence of the matter.'

‘So you would have sat there and let him do it?'

‘At that point resistance would have been useless. He is far stronger than I am.'

‘So you
offered
yourself?'

‘As I told you before, Clement, he could kill me, or have me killed, at any time. He still can. Only I think now he probably won't. He is an artist and a gentleman. He chose to despatch me with a symbolic retribution. That's all. He is a very remarkable person.'

‘So you'll meet him again, you'll go to his party?'

‘You know I never go to parties. Now please go away, will you, dear boy. You have been the privileged spectator of what I hope is the conclusion of a rather strange drama, about which I know that you will
never
speak. Now let us at last say farewell to this matter. Please be off.'

Clement continued to lean his elbows on the desk. He said, ‘But what about me?'

‘Well, what about you?'

‘I'm left out. Oh dear, I'm so confused – you said I must have followed his argument, but I can't follow it. Was it all about forgiveness?'

‘Roughly.'

‘So he let you off?'

‘A crude expression.'

‘But
what
about me?'

‘What indeed?'

‘I thought he was against you not only on his account but on my account.'

‘I daresay he thought that you could look after yourself and deal with your own case in any way you thought fit.'

‘You are deliberately confusing me.'

‘I am trying to offer you a bit of clarity, but if you don't want it, never mind – just go away.'

‘Luc, please tell me – now – did you intend to kill me?' ‘No, of course not. Now go. And let that matter too go to rest.'

Clement got up. He felt giddy, and wondered if he were going to faint again. Where was his overcoat? Oh, out in the hall. He began to walk slowly toward the door. When he reached the door Lucas suddenly called after him. ‘Wait a moment. I have something more to say to you.'

Clement turned. ‘What?'

‘I forgive you.'

‘
What
?'

‘For all the suffering which you caused me when we were children, I forgive you.'

‘Oh – thank you – '

‘Now clear off.'

‘
Maman,
please, I must go, I said I'd see Aleph before she goes away with Rosemary.'

‘She'll miss the party.'

‘Oh hang the party!'

‘So we've all been invited!'

‘When are you going to Paris?'

‘I'm not going to Paris. I'm staying here.'

‘You can't stay here, we'll go mad!'

For two nights now Harvey had slept on the floor in the narrow space between the extended bed and the bathroom door. The bed, on his mother's insistence, remained extended all day, instead of being folded into its cupboard. Progress from the front door to the bathroom was over the bed. Harvey had been unable to sleep. He lay on his back listening to his mother's quiet snoring and thinking how increasingly awful his life was becoming. It was as if he were being squeezed out of the world. For two mornings he had gone to the local library to work, but could only continue to read
I Promessi Sposi
which was beginning to bore him. He ‘went shopping' for food. He bought cheap white wine. He refused to buy champagne, even with his mother's money. In any case she kept on announcing that she was penniless. He went to his bank and cashed a cheque. He did not dare to ask how much money there was in his account. He could not ask Emil for any more taxi money. He assumed that Clement and Lucas were continuing to finance him. But suppose they had forgotten, or suppose Lucas had decided to stop paying. Bellamy of course could not now be expected to contribute. He did not believe his mother's penniless story. How was he going to get her out? No one seemed to be inspired to assist him. Supposing she became ill? She seemed to be living on white wine and oranges. Lying in bed, now wearing an old pyjama jacket which Harvey imagined he could remember from his childhood, she consumed oranges, dropping the peel around on the bed and on the floor. He hated to see her eat the oranges, she was like an animal. Harvey spent his time tidying and cleaning the flat. This activity provided his only form of satisfaction. He cleaned the bath, he even cleaned the windows. On the two previous days when Harvey had returned from the library, carrying wine and oranges and tins of beans and ravioli and macaroni cheese, he had found her gone. The bed was chaotically undone, her nightdress and pyjama jacket half buried in it, her one suitcase overflowing with garments. There was nowhere in the flat to hang anything up except a hook on the door. She returned, on each occasion, about nine o'clock in the evening. To annoy her, he did not ask where she had been. Also, on each occasion, they had both promptly become thoroughly drunk together on the white wine. Was this strange mode of life to go on and on? It seemed already to be establishing a regime. Since Harvey had perforce moved in with his mother he had not shaved. Why? Was this the beginning of some long penitential incarceration during which he would be destined to grow a beard? Aleph had once said how beautiful he would look with a golden beard, like some heroic Scandinavian. Harvey hated beards. Perhaps the omnipresence in the bathroom of Joan's strong-smelling cosmetics made him realise that
he
was the intruder. He could not look at himself. He tidied up her clothes, including her night clothes and her underclothes. Sitting on the side of the bed he ate half of a small tin of macaroni cheese with a spoon. He had no appetite. His leg was hurting. He lay down on the bed and gazed at the ceiling. On the first day he had telephoned Clifton but had found only Moy, who was incoherent and unhelpful. ‘Going into one of her trances' as Bellamy used to say. On the second day he rang again and got Louise, who warned him of Aleph's imminent departure. She said, ‘Do come tomorrow, Aleph wants to see you before she goes in the morning, she's leaving about eleven, she's just rushing about today.' Harvey then thought in order to pass the time, of going to see Bellamy in his awful cell, but shuddered away from it. That place was unclean, his flat, despite his efforts, was unclean, his mother's clothes were unclean, there was orange peel in the bed, he could not shave, he could scarcely even eat. Now it was the morning of the third day and he had engaged himself in a horrible time-consuming row with his mother.