The Bell - Iris Murdoch [68]
The path followed the lake side, divided from the water by an irregular hedge of greenery, finding its way through a tunnel dappled by circles of sunshine and shifting watery reflections. Deeper in the wood the dog was running parallel to the boy and could be heard blundering through the undergrowth and scuffing the dead leaves. Toby slowed down at last, and walked along panting, looking to see where he was. Through the bushes at the water's edge he could see the other shore of the lake, the part where the Abbey enclosure was unwalled. He paused and looked across. There was a wood over there, very like this wood. And yet, he thought, how very different everything must be over there. He wondered if, in that wood, there were neat well-kept paths, along which the nuns walked in meditation, their habits dragging on the grassy verge. As he was watching, suddenly on the other side two nuns came into view. Toby froze, wondering if he was well hidden. The nuns took what must be a clear path fairly near the water. They were a little screened by bushes and tall reeds, but every now and then they emerged into full sunlight and he could see that their skirts were hitched up a little to reveal stout black shoes, as they walked at a brisk pace along beside the lake. They turned to each other and seemed to be talking. Then the next moment, as clear as a bell, he heard one of them laugh. They turned away from him and back into the darkness of the wood.
That laugh moved Toby strangely. Of course there was no reason why nuns shouldn't laugh, though he never normally imagined them laughing. But such a laugh, he thought, must be a very very good thing: one of the best things in the world. To be good and gay was surely the highest of human destinies. With these thoughts he recalled James's talk of this morning. What James had said about innocence was surely in a way meant for him. Naturally he could not claim, as Catherine could, to have kept and guarded his innocence. How well old James had struck off just that thing that one felt about Catherine, what made her so exceptional: a sense of something retained. He himself had not been tried yet; how true what James had said about the keeping of innocence being enough of a task! Yet, Toby reflected, would it really be so difficult if one were fully aware? The trouble with so many young people nowadays was that they were not aware. They seemed to go through their youth in a daze, in a dream. Toby was certain of being awake. He was amazed, when people said that youth was wonderful, only one didn't realize it at the time. Toby did realize it at the time, was realizing it now as he paced along close to the water, his shirt wet with perspiration, feeling already the cool emanations from the lake. He was glad he had come to Imber, glad he had surrounded himself with all these good people. He was full of thanksgiving to God and a sense of the renewal of his faith. A conviction overpowered him of the almost impersonal power within him of his own pure intent. This was perhaps what was meant by grace. Not I, but Christ in me. He felt, remembering the sudden gaiety of the nun's laughter over the water, a sense of joy which seemed both physical and spiritual at the same time and almost lifted him off the ground. When one was so favoured it was not difficult to be good.
As he reflected he had been walking slowly on, and looking ahead now he realized that he had reached his destination. He saw at once with interest that what he had taken to be a gravelly beach was in fact a wide stone ramp which led gently down into the water. His lofty thoughts forgotten, he examined the scene. A few rotting stumps in the lake beyond the ramp suggested that there had once been a wooden landing-stage; and the woodland for a little distance around had been cleared, though now weeds