The Sea, The Sea - Iris Murdoch [233]
‘Green Jackets.’
‘I mean Green Jackets.’
‘Is he still staying with you?’
‘No, he’s gone back to London.’
‘I wish I’d become a regular soldier,’ said Ben.
‘It might be rather dull in peace time,’ said Hartley.
‘I wish I’d done that,’ said Ben. ‘You really know people in the army. You get around. Still it’s nice to be at home too.’
‘Very nice.’
‘How’s your house?’
‘Rain got in.’
‘It did rain, didn’t it.’
‘Have another sandwich,’ said Hartley. ‘Oh, you haven’t eaten that one.’
I clutched the sandwich. I crushed it and some cucumber sped out onto the floor. I started to put the sandwich in my pocket. I said, ‘I am so sorry—I am so sorry about—about—’
‘About Titus,’ said Ben. ‘Yes. So are we.’ He paused, then added, ‘It was one of those things.’
‘It was a tragedy,’ said Hartley. She spoke as if this was some sort of definitive description.
I went on desperately. I wanted to drag us all down into some common pool of feeling, I wanted to stop this conventional machine of awful insincere politeness. But I could not find suitable words. I said, ‘I feel it was my fault—I can’t—I shall never—’
‘Of course it wasn’t your fault,’ said Hartley.
‘It certainly wasn’t your fault,’ said Ben judiciously. ‘It’s more likely to have been his fault.’
‘I can’t bear it, I can’t believe it, I—’
‘We have to bear it and believe it,’ said Hartley. ‘It has happened. It’s no use talking.’
‘No, it’s no use talking,’ said Ben. ‘Like in the war. Something happens, you go on. You got to, eh?’
Hartley was sitting with her hands on her lap. She did not look at me as she spoke. She shifted self-consciously and patted her soft orderly bush of hair. She was wearing no lipstick and her tanned face showed no sign of make-up. She had unbuttoned the neck of her stripped blouse to reveal her sunburnt neck and collarbones. She looked sleeker, cleaner and better cared-for than at any time since our reunion.
Ben too I noticed had an almost prosperous air. He was wearing a clean shirt with a wide stripe and a matching tie. He had a loose brown summer jacket with lighter brown trousers and new-looking white canvas shoes. His shirt-clad stomach bulged comfortably over his tight leather belt. His short school-boy hair was smoothly combed and he was cleanly-shaven. He had a curious expression of distant calmness on his face. His eyelids drooped a little and his short upper lip was tensed, drawn up in a kind of poised fastidious manner. He too did not look at me. He had eaten several sandwiches during the previous exchanges.
‘I suppose so,’ I said, in answer to Ben’s question.
‘Let me give you a serviette,’ said Hartley, ‘you’ve got your hands all sticky.’ She took a paper one from a drawer and handed it to me.
‘You going to spend the winter here?’ said Ben.
They had evidently finished with the subject of Titus.
I could not blame them. Why should they display their emotions to me? They had to recover from that death in their own way. They were relieved that the subject had been mentioned between us and could now be dropped. Possibly that was the point of the meeting.
‘Yes. I live here.’
‘I thought you might go to France or Madeira or somewhere in the winter like rich folks do.’
‘Certainly not. Anyway I’m not rich.’
‘It’s bloody cold here, I can tell you.’
‘Look at him, look at the way he’s sitting!’ said Hartley, indicating Chuffey who was now sitting with his front paws neatly curled in and his back legs stretched out at full length. The dog looked up, pleased with itself.
‘You’re a funny dog, aren’t you?’ said Ben. Chuffey wagged his tail in agreement.
‘Are you going to get a dog?’ said Hartley to me.
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Cat man, eh?’ said Ben.
‘What?’
‘Cat man?’
‘Oh—er—no.’
‘It’s a bore about the quarantine,’ said Ben. ‘Six months, like here.’
‘The—quarantine?’
‘Yes,’ said Ben. ‘We’re off to Australia. No more English winters for us. We didn’t know it was so long when we got Chuff, but we can’t leave you behind, can we, boy?’
‘To Australia, you mean—for good?’
‘Yes.’
I looked at Hartley. She met my glance with