The Bell - Iris Murdoch [18]
'It had a name!' said Dora. 'How beautiful! But I feel so sorry for the nun. Is her ghost ever seen?'
‘That's not recorded,' said Paul, 'but there is a story about the bell ringing sometimes in the bottom of the lake, and how if you hear it it portends a death.'
Dora shivered. She was undressed now and had pulled Paul's shirt over her head. 'Have you told the others this story?' she asked.
'No, I haven't told them,' said Paul. 'Oh yes, I think I told it to Catherine.' He got into bed.
Dora felt a twinge of displeasure. She went over to the window and looked out. The moon had risen now and the lake was fully visible, silvering in ripples caused perhaps by the breeze, perhaps by some night creatures. An air heavy with perfume drifted into the room. Dora saw more clearly now the expanse before her, the gaunt façade of the Abbey wall, wrinkled with light and dark, the trees beyond with their rounded tops catching the pale illumination, and long strange shadows of trees and bushes cast upon the open space of grass underneath the window. Looking a little to her left she made out what seemed to be a low causeway raised upon a series of arches which ran across the nearer reach of the lake towards the wall. Then, with a shock of alarm, she saw that there was a dark figure standing quite near on the edge of the water, very still.
Dora's heart began to beat violently as she stared down and she checked an exclamation. Then the figure moved, and a moment later she recognized it. It was the boy Toby Gashe who was wandering along on the shore of the lake. He walked there by himself, kicking his feet through the long grass. Dora could just hear the swish of it as he moved. She drew back a little from the window, still keeping him in sight. So that Paul should not think she was watching anything she said, 'They're getting a new bell?'
'Yes,' said Paul. 'A tenor bell is being cast for them, to hang in the tower. It may arrive before we go. My work should take another fortnight.'
Dora saw the boy turning to look back along the lake. Then suddenly he stretched out both his hands and raised them above his head. He looked to Dora at that moment the very image of freedom. She could not bear to look at him any longer and turned away from the window.
Paul was staring at her. He was sitting up in bed with a book in his hand.
Dora looked at him with hostility. 'That was a horrible story,' she said. 'You like telling me unpleasant stories. Like that beastly one by De Maupassant about the dogs that you once made me read aloud.'
Paul continued to stare. Dora realized obscurely that in telling her the story he had released in himself the desire for her which had been quiescent before. The violence of the tale was in him now and he wanted her love. She looked at him with a mixture of excitement and disgust.
'Come, Dora,' said Paul.
'In a minute,' said Dora. Turning from him she caught sight of herself in the long mirror. She was barefoot and wearing only Paul's shirt, with sleeves rolled up and well open at the neck. The shirt just reached to her thigh, revealing the whole length of her long solid legs. Dora looked with astonishment at the person that confronted her. She admired the vitality of the sunburnt throat and the way the flat tongues of hair licked down on