The Sea, The Sea - Iris Murdoch [214]
James said, pursuing the topic, ‘Most real relationships are involuntary.’
‘As in a family, what you were saying about Titus?’
‘Yes. Or sometimes they just seem destined. A Buddhist would say you had met in a previous life.’
‘Would you say you were a superstitious man? And don’t say it depends what you mean by superstition.’
‘In that case I can’t answer you.’
‘Do you believe in reincarnation? Do you think that if one hasn’t done well one will be reborn as a—as a—hamster—or a—woodlouse?’
‘These are images. The truth lies beyond.’
‘It seems to me a creepy doctrine.’
‘Other people’s religions often seem creepy. Think how creepy Christianity must seem to an outsider.’
‘It seems so to me,’ I said, though I had never thought this before. ‘Do Buddhists believe in life after death?’
‘It depends—’
‘Oh all right!’
‘Some Tibetans,’ said James, ‘believe—’ He corrected himself. He now always spoke of that country in the past tense as a vanished civilization. ‘Believed that the souls of the dead, while waiting to be reborn, wander in a sort of limbo, not unlike the Homeric Hades. They called it bardo. It can be rather unpleasant. You meet all kinds of demons there.’
‘So it’s a place of punishment?’
‘Yes, but a just automatic sort of punishment. The learned ones regard these figures as subjective visions, which depend on the sort of life the dead man has led.’
‘ “For in that sleep of death what dreams may come” . . .’
‘Yes.’
‘But what about God, or the gods? Can’t a soul go to them?’
‘The gods? The gods themselves are dreams. They too are merely subjective visions.’
‘Well, at least one might hope for some happy illusions hereafter! ’
‘Just possibly,’ said James, with a judicious air, as if he were discussing the likelihood of catching a train. ‘But very few people . . . are without . . . attendant demons . . .’
‘And does everybody go to bardo?’
‘I don’t know. They say that you have a chance at the moment of death.’
‘A chance?’
‘To become free. At the moment of death you are given a total vision of all reality which comes to you in a flash. To most of us this would be—well—just a violent flash, like an atom bomb, something terrifying and dazzling and incomprehensible. But if you can comprehend and grasp it then you are free.’
‘So it’s useful to know you’re going. You mean free to—?’
‘Just free—Nirvana—out of the Wheel.’
‘The wheel of reincarnation?’
‘The Wheel, yes, of attachments, cravings, desires, what chains us to an unreal world.’
‘Attachments? You mean—even love?’
‘What we call love.’
‘And do we then exist somewhere else?’
‘These are images,’ said James. ‘Some say Nirvana is and can only be here and now. Images to explain images, pictures to explain pictures.’
‘The truth lies beyond!’
We were silent then for a little time. James’s eyelids dropped but I could still see the glint of his eyes. I asked jocosely, ‘Are you meditating?’
‘No. If I were really meditating I would be invisible. We notice each other because we are centres of restless mental activity. A meditating sage is not seen.’
‘Yes, distinctly creepy!’ I could not make out whether James was serious. I presumed he was not. The conversation was making me feel thoroughly uncomfortable. I said, ‘When do you plan to leave? Tomorrow, I imagine? Apart from anything else I want my bed back!’
James said, ‘Yes, I’m sorry, you can have the bed tonight. I’ll push off tomorrow. I’ve got a lot of things to do in London. I have to prepare for a journey.’
So my guess had been right! James had not really left the Army, he was going secretly back to Tibet! I wanted to indicate tactfully to him that I knew. ‘Oh, a journey, of course! I think I can imagine—however, I ask no questions—!’
James was silent, now looking at me out of his dark unshaven face and his dark eyes. I glanced quickly at him and looked away. I decided to tell him about Ben. ‘You know—James—about my falling into that hole