The Bell - Iris Murdoch [61]
While they examined the traps at closer quarters, turning them on their backs, Peter wandered away into the wood. Under the trees the light was fading faster, and great clouds of midges drifted about the clearing. Dora was waving her parasol and complaining of being bitten in spite of the citronella. Then a moment later everyone was electrified to hear clearly and unmistakably at quite close quarters the call of a cuckoo. They straightened up and looked at each other - and then burst out laughing. Peter was called back.
'Oh dear!' cried Dora. 'I thought it really was one. What a shame!'
'I'm afraid the real cuckoo is in Africa by now, wise bird,' said Peter. He showed Dora the little instrument he used to make the sound. Then he took from his pocket other toys made of wood and metal, and reproduced in turn the song of the skylark, the curlew, the willow warbler, the turtle dove, and the nightingale. Dora was enchanted. She demanded to see and to try, seizing the small objects from Peter with little cries and self-conscious feminine twittering. Michael observing her thought she epitomized everything he didn't care for about women; but he thought this with detachment, liking her all the same, and feeling too good-tempered at present to feel distaste for anyone.
'It's as good as the real thing!' cried Dora.
'Nothing's as good as the real thing,' said Peter. 'It's odd that even a perfect imitation, as soon as you know it's an imitation, gives much less pleasure. I remember Kant says how disappointed your guests are when they discover that the after-dinner nightingale is a small boy posted in the grove.'
'A case of the natural attractiveness of truth,' said Michael.
'You're full of pious remarks today, isn't he?' said Peter. 'You must be practising for your sermon tomorrow.'
'It's James tomorrow, thank heavens,' said Michael. 'I'm next week.'
'I think the moral is don't be found out. Don't you agree, Toby?' said Peter, laughing.
They began to walk back. Paul asked Peter if he would mind taking a photograph of Dora. Peter was delighted, and finding an opening in the trees began elaborately to pose her sitting on a mossy stone and fingering a flower.
'Paul doesn't realize what he's in for!' said Michael to Toby. 'When Peter gets hold of a human subject he's at it for hours. It's a revenge for the frustrations the birds are always making him suffer!'
Michael and Toby walked on together. From behind them they could hear the laughter of the other three and Dora's voice protesting. Paul seemed quite restored to good humour now. Michael felt suddenly very happy. He felt as if he had gathered all these people benignly about him and as if he were in some way responsible for the beautiful evening, for the gaiety and innocence of it all. He found the word 'innocence' coming naturally to his mind, and did not pause to ponder over it. How rarely now he had this sense of being, in the company of other people, at leisure and at ease. His thoughts then turned to Nick: but the sadness that followed seemed purged and sweet even, unable to break the spell of his present mood.
He was glad to be walking along with Toby, talking idly and intermittently about nothing in particular. He felt on holiday.
'There's an avenue in these woods,' said Michael, 'a bit farther on from where we were, where you see nightjars sometimes. Ever seen a nightjar?'
'No, I'd love to!' said Toby. 'Could you show me?'
'Surely,' said Michael. 'Some evening next week we'll go along. They're very strange birds, hardly like birds at all. They make one believe in witches.'
They came quite suddenly out of the wood onto the wide expanse of grass near the drive. The great scene, the familiar scene, was there again before them, lit by a very yellow and almost vanished sun, the sky fading to a greenish blue. From here they looked a little down upon the lake and