The Book And The Brotherhood

bushes to haul himself upward. When he reached the top he did not attempt to hide, but stood i here upright looking down into the valley. Crimond's car was fill the track.

Duncan walked, slowly now and seeming to glide dreamlike over the ground, down the hill toward the tower. It took him about ten minutes to reach it. He heard the birds singing and noticed some very small flowers growing in the grass. Ever^ything was very wet and now shining in the sunlight. At the bottom of the slope some black-faced sheep stared at him with amazement and hurried away. He crossed the stream just above jean's pool. As he moved he had a sudden clear vision or hallucination of Crimond naked, tall, pale, thin as a lance, slim as an Athenian bo^y, long-nosed and brilliant-eyed. The doors of the cottage and the tower were both open. There was no one in the kitchen. Duncan entered the tower and began to climb the spiral staircase. He climbed firmly, not in haste, not trying to mute his steps. The staircase led to a small landing, not directly into the bedroom. Duncan opened the bedroom door.

There was a flurry going on inside. Crimond was standing, not completely naked as Duncan had pictured him, but pulling a shirt over his head. _,Jean was oil the bed, sitting on the far side of it, and had pulled the quilt up round her, looking back over her shoulder towards the door. Duncan remembered later that he had actually reflected for a second or two whether he should now stand and look at them and say something. During that second or two Crimond succeeded in getting his shirt on. The next moment Duncan launched himself forward, attacking like a large wild animal which propels its whole weight onto its victim to crush it. He hit Crimond with his whole body, knocking him backward and seizing him, clasping him in savage bear-like arms, feeling the thin crushable bones inside his clasp, dragging at_. the shirt, feeling the smoothness of Crimond's skin and the terrible warmth of his flesh. As he held on he kicked violently with his booted foot against the slim bare leg. jean screamed. They reeled a moment, then Duncan felt a jabbing pain in his side where Crimond had freed one arm. For a moment he relaxed his grip, received Crimond's knee in his stomach, and staggered back into the open doorway, and they separated. jean screamed again, 'Stop! Stop!' There was a second's interval. Then Duncan, now uttering whimpering cries of rage, Litinched himself again with clawing hands outstretched. 0 iniond stepped to meet him and with a long straight arm _Lunched Duncan as hard as he could between the eyes. Duncan fell back and tumbled all the way down the spiral staircase into the room below.

This was the fight which had such long and dreadful 'Pilsequences; and Duncan knew at once that the terrible ihing that was to happen had happened to him. How he managed to fall, to roll his big thick body, all the way down hose iron stairs he could not afterwards imagine. His head, his shoulders, his back, his legs, crashed against the rails, against the hard sharp edges of the treads, he struck the floor hrlow with a violent echoing impact and lay for a moment tninned. But even as he lay there, even it seemed later as he wits falling, he knew that whatever else might have been dimiaged, something frightful had happened to his eyes. The pain was extreme, but worse than the pain was the sense that h-iih were injured, and one of the precious orbs actually crushed. He got up slowly, wondering if he had also broken a lone. The centre of his field of vision seemed to have disappeared and the periphery was full of grey bubbling atoms. He hobbled slowly, carefully, out of the door and across the level grass toward the hillside. He did not pause to wonder why no one followed him down to see if he was badly hurt. Jean told him later that Crimond had to keep her in the room by force. The door had slammed after him, perhaps no one heard lulu fall. Now he was anxious only to get away and reach a hospital as soon as possible. He crossed the stream walking thimigh the water, he crawled up the hill clutching the wet grass. Then with intense concentration he drove himself back to Dublin.

He went first to the Rotunda Hospital, who sent him on to an eye clinic. Once there, and sitting down on a chair, he became for a short period almost completely blind. He was led out by porters, by nurses, answered questions, lay flat while drops were put into the eyes, bright lights shone upon them, a chines lowered over them. He was told that normal vision 'would probably return to one eye, the other would need an operation. Meanwhile, since he was certainly suflering front concussion, he had better go home and rest. Pushed out of the door clutching a card telling him when to return, Duncan found he could see enough to walk back to his flat in Parnell Square. Before he reached it he had come to an important conclusion. Nobody must know what had happened. He had of' course told the doctors simply about a fall. Now it was essential to conceal, if possible, both his mutilated condition, and the shame of his defeat. That meant, and at once, leaving Dublin where everybody found out everything. He passion. ately did not want to see_.jcan and was relieved that there was no sign of her. He was wondering whether he would ever be able to read again, to work again. His world had changed indeed; he had changed it himself, by force. He telephoned the embassy to arrange his absence, he summoned a taxi and went to the airport. He wore dark glasses to conceal his bruises. He remembered that the hired car was still parked in a road near the Rotunda. He posted the keys to his secretary, Miss Paget, asking her to return the car. He caught a plane to London and a taxi to.Moorfields Eye Hospital. It had been a long day.

Their house in London, then in Putney, was let, so Duncan stayed at a hotel. He sent a note toJean simply giving the address of his club. He was busy with his physical condition, attending University College Hospital for head tests. He tried not to think about Jean's reply. An irritating evasive one arrived saying, 'Why have you run away?' A little later, after his second eye operation, she sent another note saying that she was living with Crimond. This news was confirmed by a letter from Dominic Moranty which said it was 'all over Dublin'. Moranty expressed a sympathy which Duncan could have done without, and indignation that 'everyone' was blaming Duncan for having brought it about by his insane jealousy. Duncan was not surprised that gossip sided with the lovers; and was relieved that Moranty's tactless missive omitted the point which would surely have been of the greatest interest if known. A little after this Duncan sent his official letter of' resignation to the Foreign Office. He wrote telling Jean that he had resigned and was staying in London. He added, without complaints or endearments, 'I suggest you return to me.' After a little while Jean wrote that she was sorry he had resigned, that she was stayⁱng in Dublin, and would follow his instructions about the flat, the car and 'the property' (she did not say ‘the tower'). A PS said, I am very sorry. Duncan asked his solicitor to acknowledge the letter.

As Duncan saw it later, he was enabled to go coldly on with this hideous business because he had another engrossing mortal anxiety, another job to do, 'going to work' at

Moorfields. He wondered, later, if he should have screamed, accused and begged, at any rate by letter; he could not, in his present state, have presented himself in person. Later he bitterly regretted not having tried, somehow, intelligently, passionately, to get his wife back. Vindictive hatred of Crimond, Crimond whom he regarded practically as a murderer, had made him icy cold to Jean. Had he been able to think simply, whole-heartedly, about her he could have written tear-stained pages. As it was, ⁱⁿ his imagination and in his dirams, Crimond stood between them, as thin as a lance, as w1las a kouros, pale and glimmering. Meanwhile however his 'work' had been going unexpectedly well, all was by no means lost. His right eye gradually regained normal vision, and his left eye, though oddly 'stained', regained enough sight to help lim colleague. He had worn glasses before, and now with perceptibly thicker lenses was able to envisage, and then,Alain, a return to an ordinary life of walking and reading. The oltiation was even likely to improve further, and he might expect to be able to drive a car again. 'You don't just see with your eyes, you see with your brain,' his cheerful doctor told Mini, 'and it's amazing what ingenious adjustments it can make!' The same doctor assured him that his 'funny eye', certainly noticeable, looked 'fascinating', even 'positively miractive'.

During this ordeal Duncan had become mortally tired. He had enacted being blind, experienced being unable to read. He had felt the cold shadow of death, being determined if he did not regain the power to read, to kill himself. Now as he gradually recovered from one horror ^he was seized by the other. His spirit regained, with its strength, its capacity for a different sufrering. He re-enacted again and again his walk to the tower, the bedroom scene, Crimond with his shirt, Jean looking over her shoulder, the blow, the fall. He dreamt about Crimond. He did not dream about Jean, except perhaps as a black muddy lump or black ball which figured in many dreams. Day and night he desired leer, longed for her presence, fancied her return, reconciliation, happiness. Remorse tor- mented him and he imagined innumerable ways in which it all need not have happened. He ought to have spoken frankly to Jean instead of spying on her, he ought to have admonished her and warned her, he ought to have protected and looked after his wife instead of becoming her enemy. He ought not to have resigned his job, he ought to have stayed in Dublin and faced it all out there, eyes and all. She had accused him of' running away. He had shirked an ordeal which might have won her sympathy, he had too hastily embraced defeat instead of standing out for victory. Now it was too late – or was it? He was paralysed by hatred of Crimond – or was it