The Sea, The Sea - Iris Murdoch [246]
James was silent for a while and I began to think that I had gone too far, but I let the silence continue. The sea was audible but quieter.
‘Oh well,’ he said at last, ‘oh well—’, and then was silent again, but was clearly going to tell something, so I waited.
‘There’s not much to that story,’ he said, rather disappointingly, ‘at any rate it’s soon told. You know that some Buddhists believe that any earthly attachment, if it persists until death, ties you to the Wheel and prevents you from attaining liberation.’
‘Oh yes, that wheel—’
‘Of spiritual causality. But that’s by the way.’
‘I remember I asked you if you believed in reincarnation and you said—’
‘The sherpa in question,’ said James, ‘was called Milarepa. Well, that wasn’t his real name, I called him that after a—after a poet I rather admire. He was my servant. We had to go on a journey together. It was winter and the high passes were full of snow, it was a pretty impossible journey really—’
‘Was it a military journey?’
‘We had to get through this pass. Now you know that in India and Tibet and such places there are tricks people can learn, almost anybody can learn them if they’re well taught and try hard enough—’
‘Tricks?’
‘Yes, you know, like—like the Indian rope trick—anything—’
‘Oh, just that sort of trick.’
‘Well, what is that sort of trick? As I say, all sorts of people can do them, they can be jolly tiring but—you know they have nothing to do with—with—’
‘With what?’
‘One of these tricks is raising one’s bodily warmth by mental concentration.’
‘How’s it done?’
‘It’s useful in a primitive country, like being able to go on walking for forty-eight hours at five miles an hour without eating or drinking or stopping.’
‘No one could do that.’
‘And to be able to keep oneself warm by mental power is obviously handy on a winter journey.’
‘Like good King Wenceslas!’
‘I had to cross this pass and I decided to take Milarepa with me. It would involve spending a night in the snow. I didn’t have to take him. But I reckoned I could generate enough heat to keep us both alive.’
‘Wait a minute! You mean you can do this thing of generating bodily heat by mental concentration?’
‘I told you it’s a trick,’ said James impatiently. ‘It’s got nothing to do with anything important, like goodness or anything like that.’
‘And then—?’
‘We got up to the top of the pass and got caught in a blizzard. I thought we’d be all right. But we weren’t. There wasn’t enough heat for two. Milarepa died in the night, he died in my arms.’
I said, ‘Oh God.’ I couldn’t think what further to say. My mind was confused and I was beginning to feel very drunk and sleepy. I heard James’s voice continuing to speak and it seemed to come from very far away. ‘He trusted me . . . It was my vanity that killed him . . . The payment for a fault is automatic . . . They can get to work on any flaw . . . I relaxed my hold on him . . . I lost my grip . . . The Wheel is just...’ By this time my head was down on the table and I was falling quietly asleep.
I awoke and it was day. A clear grey light of dawn, the sun not yet risen, illuminated the kitchen, showing the wine-stained table, the used dishes, the crumbled cheese. The wind had dropped and the sea was silent. James had gone.
I leapt up and called, running out onto the lawn. Then I ran back into the house, calling again, and then through and out of the front door onto the causeway. The blank grey silent light revealed the rocks, the road, and James just getting into his car. The car door closed. I called and waved. James saw me and lowered the window, he waved back but he had already started the engine and the car was moving.
‘Let me know when you’re back!’
‘Yes. Goodbye!’ He waved cheerily and the Bentley sped off and turned the corner and its sound fell into the silence. I returned slowly to the house.
I walked back over the causeway, aware now of a dreadful headache and a swinging