The Book And The Brotherhood

point, that is, we have looked at each other. What threats I might utter against you I leave to your imagination. I am certain that you will not willingly cross my path again. That is all I have to say.'

This extraordinary speech, quite unpremeditated, surprised Duncan very much. He had not, even when he was coming down the stairs, had any thoughts of this kind. But even as he spoke he saw both the good sense of what he was saying and also its immediate efficacy. Perhaps it arose too From the particular confidence which he derived from seeing Crimond's hand trembling. It was a vast relief to him, in a way he had not at all foreseen, to find that he could be in the same room with Crimond without some kind of terrible collapse or explosion. He had intended, as 'talking him down', to utter some vague angry rhetoric. But what, as it happened, lit-had, uttered actually had point, and constituted an appeal to Crimond's intelligence. He even felt that he had impressed Crimond. With his last word he turned to go, but not hastily. Crimond would certainly want to say something, and a brief coda would round off the event.

Duncan's speech, which he had not attempted to interrupt, had certainly held Crimond's attention. He even waited pointedly at the end of it in case Duncan did after all want to add anything. He stared intently at Duncan, raising his light reddish eyebrows whose long fine hairs were unusually illumined by the lamp. His face relaxed, and he was opening and shutting his hands as if to calm his body. He said in a quirt interested tone of voice, 'Oh, but it was not at all my idea to discuss anything with you, or, heaven forbid, to talk about Jean. There, I have mentioned her name too.'

It was at this moment that Duncan, with some sort of dismissive gesture, should have turned and walked away in a manner signifying: I don't care what your idea was, I've made my statement and I'm going. If he had done that Crimond would probably not have impeded him. But Duncan felt so full of power just then that he was tempted to indulge his curiosity. He made the mistake of asking, 'Well, what did you want us to do?'

'Fight, of course,' said Crimond, now giving a curious pained smile.

'Oh don't be a fool,' said Duncan, not yet alarmed bit I already being caught in the silken threads of Crimond's will. 'I'm not keen on theatre.'

'Why did you come?'

'I came to say what I said just now.'

‘I don't believe you,' said Crimond. 'The rigmarole you uttered just now was something you thought of on the spur the moment, it was empty rhetoric. What you said about hatred and anger was true though. You came because you had to come. Otherwise you could easily just have ignored my letter, which as you say was impertinent. You could have lignored it. I expected you to ignore it. I'm surprised that you're here. But since you are here -'

'I'm going,' said Duncan, now turning away with more determination.

`Oh no you're not.' Crimond moved quickly round Duncan, now standing between him and the distant door. He said, 'That door's locked, I locked it after I came in.'

Duncan stood where he was. In any case Crimond now represented a serious barrier. If he tried to move past, Crimond might touch him, seize hold of him. The idea of being touched by Crimond filled Duncan with a paralysing repulsion. Standing face to face with the man in this large cold dark room till Duncan's old vague furious ideas of hurling himself upon his enemy shrivelled up. No such lively impulses came to his old. His concern now was simply to be able to leave with dignity. He felt that he had been able, for a time, to dominate Crimond, at least to silence him, and must try to do so again. But he was now in a position of weakness. He said in a firm voice, 'I'm not going to fight you. How can you imagine that to be possible? I haven't come here to humour your fantasy life.'

‘Take off your coat,' said Crimond. 'You're going to stay here a while longer. I don't like to see you in that coat. Take it off.’

Duncan took off the overcoat which he had been wearing since his arrival. He did this because he now feared that Crimond might spring upon him and he did not want to be Impeded by the coat. He also did it because he had begun to be afraid of Crimond. He thought, he's mad, ^he might do anything. He threw the heavy coat onto the desk where it overoirned the lamp. Crimond returned from the door and set the lamp upright.

Taking refuge from fear in anger, Duncan said, 'This is false contemptible play-acting. You're mad with spite because Jean left you. She found you mean and cruel, she found you boring. 'That's what this is about.'

At this reference to Jean Crimond flushed, his pale face becoming suddenly crimson. But his expression did not alter. He said in a low voice, 'How can you! Not that, not that!'

`Open the door,' said Duncan.

`No, not yet,' said Crimond, who seemed suddenly breathless. He pulled at his neck and dragged off the green scarf and let it fall on the floor. He said in the tone of someone offering a helpful explanation, 'When I said 'fight' I didn't actually mean like that, I mean like we did once. I just want you to play – that game. I felt it was – appropriate – and that you would think so too.'

`Game -?'

`Yes. Like this.' Crimond stepped forward. Duncan moved hastily back. But Crimond was reaching for an electric light switch. He turned the switch and the room was suddenly full of a cold clear light. Two neon strips across the ceiling flickered then lit again. Crimond opened a drawer in the desk to reveal two revolvers.

When he saw the guns Duncan understood the scene, he understood the significance of the two long tables set end to end. He felt a quick cold death terror, a heavy pain alienating his body. Then a weird excitement like a sexual stirring. He came forward almost with an air of curiosity. Crimond had placed the revolvers side by side on the table. He was pair again and put his hand to his throat, undoing another button on his shirt.

`Smith and Wesson,' said Duncan. 'I suppose you got these in America?'

, Yes.'

`Single action.'

`Yes.'

`Do you still collect automatic pistols too?'

`Not – collect -' Crimond went to close the open door of the cupboard.

As this conversation proceeded Duncan thought about the hammer which was in the pocket of his overcoat on the desk. This now seemed like a dream weapon, something transparent to be wielded in slow motion. What fantasy of revenge had made him bring the thing, what was he supposing he would do with it, take Crimond unawares, as for instance when he had been closing the cupboard door, and smash hint between the shoulders? He could not do it. At the tower he could afford to let his anger carry him away. Now he was older, older, and Crimond seemingly as young as ever. There was no question of punching, wrestling. Yet was the dream hammer more unreal than what appeared to be happening now? He thought to himself, it's all make-believe, it must be. Jean said they did it for a joke with unloaded guns. Of course he wanted her to be frightened too. It's the same now. Anyway the weight of the cartridge always takes the loaded chamber down to the bottom so there's no risk, I've always known that. All the same, I won't do it. Of course the man is crazy, perhaps desperate.

`You see,' said Crimond in a low conspiratorial voice, 'what you said at the beginning wasn't entirely off the point. There is – between us – something to be done – something to be finished with – if we are not togoon obsessively thinking about each other for the rest of our lives, which I believe you would agree would be a sad waste of our time and energy. We want to be free of each other, yes? That was the psychology of duelling in the old days after all. Call what is necessary, if you like, an exorcism, a symbolic release. I want this, I need this, and I think that you, if you are honest, want it and need it too.'

`I'd like to kill you, if that's what you mean,' said Duncan. `But I'm not interested in your symbolism. If it's symbolic it's not serious, and if it's serious it's not what I want either. I certainly don't want you to kill me! Why should I play your game? I won't.'

`You will,' said Crimond.

Duncan hesitated, actually wondering whether he had now the strength to walk to the door and rattle the handle until Crimond deigned to open it. Would that be what happened? Could Crimond force him to 'play' by making some awful humiliation the alternative? Could it happen like that a third time? Suppose he had to beg Crimond to let him go? Duncan, who had imagined all kinds of complicated traps, had let himself be caught in the simplest. Also however, and this dangerous thought strengthened his hesitation, he saw Crimond's point, and its meeting with his