The Book And The Brotherhood

pendant from the arms of the chair. He had washed his face and his hands and cleaned his teeth. Jean had washed off her elaborate make-up and brushed her thick dark straight hair, which stayed where it was put, back over the crown of her head. She had been a striking beauty when, in another era, in that now so remote, so dream-like past, she had flirted with Sinclair Curtland. Jean had known Sinclair, through Rose, when they were all children. He and she had been 'close' before Sinclair went up to Oxford, they had somehow, inconclusively, remained so, after, always, in spite of Gerard. Had they ever seriously considered that match which everyone seemed so anxious to bring about? Jean's older face was beautiful too, a little sulkier, still delicately china-pale, wilful and keen, often now recalling that of' her Jewish father, so obsessively devout, so obsessively successful. Her mother, also Jewish, had been a talented pianist. They had observed the festivals. Jean had cared for none of these things, not synagogue or music, or the romance of business in which her father had tried to interest her, his only child. She had been obsessively intellectual. Some wondered why she married Duncan, others why she married at all. Her parents had loved her, though they had wanted a boy. Her mother was dead, her father flourishing in New York. He had dreamed of a Jewish son-in-law, but Sinclair was special.

Duncan rubbed his eyes, he found himself swaying slightly, a desire to sleep could be imperative even now.'When will you come back?' he said. He had taken in the situation, he did not mean tomorrow or next week. He added,'You pulled it off last time, coming back I mean.'

'You wouldn't stand it a second time,' said Jean. 'And yet -who knows what you might stand. I love you, but this is different.'

'Evidently.'

'I love you forever – but this is – Anyway they won't be able to stand it, and that will affect you.'

'Who's 'they'?', as if he didn't know. `Gerard, Jenkin, Rose. Married people shouldn't have best friends. Maybe we'd always have been better off if we hadn't always been continually watched, oh how closely they watch. And they'll stick with you, like they did last time. It's you they care about, not me.'

Duncan did not dispute this. 'They're not against you, they won't be, Rose won't be, you have an eternal pact with Rose.'

`You think women too have life-long friendships sealed in blood. It isn't so.' Yet it was true that she had an eternal pact with Rose. 'The two princesses' Sinclair had called them. 'Why the hell did you let Crimond throw you into the Cher, why did you tolerate it!'

'I didn't have much choice.'

`Don't play the fool now!'

`Jean -!’

`All right, all right. What happened?'

'I can't remember very clearly,' said Duncan.'I wasn't after him. I mean I wasn't looking for him. We met suddenly in the dark. I don't think I said anything. I think I hit him, or tried to. We were just beside the water. He pushed me in.'

`God. It was just like – it was just like the other time. Why are, you so weak, why can't you get things right?'

'You mean kill him?' said Duncan.

'It's as if you enjoyed it – of course I know you don't, you Just bungle everything. Did you hit him with your fist or with your open hand?'

'I can't remember,' said Duncan. In fact he could remember very well; and reflected how often, how interminably, he would relive that scene, just as he did the other one, the UrsZene. Retiring to relieve himself, he had come face to face with Crimond in the dark. It only now occurred to him that Crimond must have been watching him, trailing him, and had engineered the sudden meeting. It was the kind of unexpected encounter where one would be shocked into doing something, clasping an extended hand, offering an impromptu kiss or a Blow. Duncan had moved his right hand, deciding, he rememhered, not to close it into a fist. He had intended to slap Crimond on the side of the head, but had again, evidently, decided not to, but had hit him on the shoulder, quite hard it seemed since Crimond had jolted back a pace. Then Crimond had seized him, holding him by his clothes, and swung him round toward the edge of the rⁱver. Duncan lost his balance and fell down the bank. Yes' he remembered it all. He wondered whether, if it had been the other way round and he had pushed Crimond into the Cherwell, Jean would now be leaving.

'So all you can say is that you've got to go?' `You'll be on the telephone to them.' `Don't be contemptible as well as cruel.'

'Of course they are my friends too. I'm gambling the whole issue.'

'I don't like the gambling image either. To imply you just crave excitement does yo_u less than justice. I suggest you get dressed and have some coffee and calm down.'

'I'll take a suitcase,' said Jean, 'and come back for the rest some time when you're at the office. You can go to bed and to sleep, you're reeling with sleep. When you wake up I'll be gone and you can curse me.'

'I shall never curse you_. I just think you're a bloody traitor.' 'I don't know what ^to say. I don't know what the future holds, whether I'll be alive even.'

'What the hell does that mean?'

'To go near Crimond i_s to go near death, somehow_. I don't mean anything in particular by that – just, it's danger. He doesn't fear death, he's a Kamikaze type, in a war he'd get a VC'

'He keeps guns and has a very nasty fantasy life, that's all.'

'Well, you used to keep guns when you belonged to that club, you fancied yourself as a marksman. You and Crimond were always messing g with guns at Oxford. No, but if he ever stopped working he might be very desperate.'

'And kill himself or you? You said he once proposed a suicide pact!'

'Not really, he just likes taking risks. He's brave, he doesn't evade things, he ^{tells t}he truth, he's the most truthful person I've ever met.'

'You mean brutal. You can't be truthful without other virtues.'

'He has other virtues! He's dedicated, he's an idealist, he cares about poor people and -'

'Hejust wants to be admired by the young! You know what I think about Crimond's 'caring'!’

'He's a strong person. You and I connect through our weaknesses. Crimond and I connect through our strength.'

'I don't think that means anything, it's vulgar rhetoric. Jean, on the day we got married you said, this is for happiness.' 'Happiness. That's one of our weaknesses.'

'You certainly won't find it there. But don't think it will be death or glory this time. You are choosing a dull and dreary servitude with a mean cheap little tyrant.'

'Ali – if I could only tell you how little I value my life -' 'You are telling me, and it doesn't mean anything except that you want to insult our marriage.'

'I don't,' said jean frowning. She was leaning back against the closed door and had kicked off the dusty slippers in which she had danced all night. 'That's not right. You mentioned happiness – I'm just trying to convey to you how little it matters to me -'

Duncan pulled himself up a little in his armchair. He said to himself, I'm trying to make her argue, I'm trying to keep her just a little longer, like asking the executioner for two minutes. He thought, so I have despaired already? Yes. Now it is as if I expected it. But, oh, the happiness, the happiness, which she now sees as nothing. He said, 'Look, this love of yours for Crimond seems to me without substance, almost something stupid, it's not to do with real life at all. You're like two mad people who crave to be together but can't communicate -'

'Mad, yes,' saⁱd Jean, 'but – we communicate.' Her eyes widened again and she sighed hugely, touching her breast and rolling her head.

'My dear – when you chucked it last time it was for good reasons.'

'I can't remember the reasons, except that loving you must have been one, and still loving you – but, well, here we are-“`If only we'd had children, that would have anchored you in reality. I've never managed to make all this real for you. You've been like some kind of visitor.'

`Don't keep saying that about children.'