Jackson's Dilemma Part 14

'It has all worked out very well,' said Edward. 'Is it true Jackson has left you?'

'Yes.'

'I'm sorry. Why did he go?'

'I think he just got fed up and wanted to move on. I say, would you like something to drink or eat? It's quite late. Do stay for lunch!'

They looked at each other.

'We'd love to,' said Edward, 'but we've got to go to London. We've got to do the rounds there! We've so much wanted to see you, you've been such a friend - I hope you understand about the wedding.'

'Yes, of course. I shall expect to come to the party - perhaps it could happen here - '

'We'll send you a card,' said Anna.

They all stood up.

'Why, h.e.l.lo!' said Benet to Bran, who had materialised from the garden. 'But you'll go to the wedding, won't you!'

Bran said nothing. Edward said, 'Of course! Come along then.'

Chatting about the heavenly weather they drifted into the house and out at the front door where Edward's red Jaguar was standing. Benet waved them goodbye.

When the Jaguar had stopped outside the front door of Hatting Hall, Bran, who had been silent in the back of the car during the journey, jumped out, announced that he was going 'to visit Spencer' and, running back towards the front gate, disappeared. In his presence Edward and Anna had exchanged a few remarks. 'How solitary Benet seems.' 'He's got his books.' 'He's sorry about Jackson.' 'Yes - I wonder what happened there?'

Now, after watching Bran's departure they mounted the steps in silence. The door was partly open, letting in the sunshine. They entered the large hall, dark by contrast.

Montague appeared, smiling.

'Oh, Montague, thanks for arranging the flowers so beautifully!' said Anna. She had already made friends with the staff. She followed Edward into the drawing room, closing the door behind her. He was standing with his back to her, looking out on the garden. She put her arms round his waist and leaned her head against him. 'Edward, my dear love - do you still love me?'

'Don't be silly!' He turned round, and holding her as in a dance, propelled her to the enormous sofa which faced the fireplace. They fell down clasping each other onto the sofa.

As they adjusted themselves into a sitting position she said, 'Of course you are worrying about Bran and - '

'Bran is thinking again.'

'Good thoughts, happy thoughts - '

'I'm worrying about you.'

'What they think? They don't think!'

'I'm afraid you'll stop loving me, you know I bring catastrophe. I have already brought confusion.'

'Edward, don't - I shall cry - I love you - I'm so happy, you must not stop me from being happy, you must not stop Bran from being happy. It's what I've always wanted and he has always wanted.'

'I hope he'll like that school.'

'Your school. You liked it.'

'No I didn't.'

'Oh you, you've never liked anything!'

'Except you - and Bran-'

'And now you've got us. Oh Edward, darling, don't cry-you're thinking about - '

'I think about that every moment of my life.'

'You mean Randall - Oh my dear - '

'Don't say anything, I'm crying for you, for us - '

'It's a sort of prayer, you said that yesterday - It is a prayer, isn't it?'

'Yes. I do wish we were married. It's taking such a d.a.m.ned long time, I thought - '

'It's very soon now. And so is lunch. And I shall be the Mistress of Hatting! Come!'

Mildred was now beginning a little to wish that she had gone to India after all. Why had she so suddenly cancelled that journey, made void those tickets? She had held so attentively in her mind so many pictures of that future, she saw herself moving humbly among the barefoot poor, the starving, dressed in a stained and dusty sari. Women whom she had known were out there, Mildred had had no doubt that she would soon be among them and among innumerable others, Christians, Buddhists, Hindus, Muslims, servants of G.o.d or of G.o.ds. Was that not something ultimate? Not just busily, efficiently, to feed the poor, but to do so in humility, out of love, out of deep spiritual belief, as servants. Sitting, kneeling, upon the ground, in the dust. There where she had wished to be and now would never be. What now could she do, what great worthy thing, what profound humility could she achieve, which was not itself an act of pride and self-satisfaction? Well, do I want to be a saint, she thought. That way is a mystery, a long long servitude, a complete loss of self, an utterly new being, a cloud of unknowing.

Such a tumble of thoughts distracted Mildred as she sat, or more usually stood, in the crowded Underground train which in the morning (some mornings anyway) carried her from her tidy little town flat to the dirty miserable dangerous area of London where her Anglican priest lived, himself in a tiny shack, among his poor. His name was Lucas Begbrook. His parents were Methodists, but forgave his High Anglican curtsies and candles. Mildred knew of course that she belonged to Owen. Why then had she decided to go to India, was it to achieve an absolute severance? Because she had begun to disapprove of his drunkenness, and his chamber of Horrors or because she was just tired of him, or that she had realised that Elizabeth Loxon could look after him just as well? Actually all that was more likely to make her stay! More potent still, Mildred had now become aware of the fact that Lucas was, at any rate a little, in love with her. Was she in love with him? At least he came to her in her dreams.

Coming back in the afternoon in a less crowded train Mildred makes her way, as often, to the British Museum, going to the Indian Gallery. Here she goes first to the G.o.d Shiva to whom she bows, and to Parvati his wife who is also the river Ganges, how gently he turns to his dear wife with whom Mildred identifies. Now Shiva, a snake about one arm, dances, he has become Shiva Nataraja, four-armed dancer in a circle of fire. The G.o.d Krishna, also he dances, avatar of Vishnu, guide of Arjuna, yet still a cowherd G.o.d who plays the flute and dances with the milkmaids, his divine power convincing each one that she is the only object of his love. His flute he plays, this dark-skinned ancient being from the past of time. He saves his followers, an adolescent with a tiger-claw necklace, lifting up a mountain. He dances upon the opened hood of the royal cobra Nagas, Kala Nag. Mildred dreams of glowing birds flying in darkness, of cobras stretching out their hoods, and dear Ganesh, and dear Ganga, Ganges. Buddha incarnate in Vishnu. So Shiva with Parvati, Shiva dancing in a wheel of fire, Krishna with his milkmaids giving himself to each.

She had not discussed 'worship of idols' with Lucas. She felt, emanating from the images, these live beings, a profound warmth of pa.s.sion, of love, that of the G.o.ds themselves but also of their numberless worshippers. In India, at every street corner, the G.o.d with garlands round his neck. This was religion, the giving away of oneself, the realisation of how small, like to a grain of dust, one was in the vast misery of the world - and yet how vast the power of goodness, of love, like a great cloud, lifting one up out of the meanness, the deadliness, of the miserable ego. Worship. Ecstasy. These G.o.ds - and animals, Shiva with snakes about his neck. Snakes. Kala Nag. Worms, tiny creatures, she picks up off pavements and lays carefully in gardens. Innumerable beings. Shiva with his delicate uplifted hand, smiling upon Parvati, while round about them whirl creatures innumerable. The Ganges, the Thames, Mildred with tears in her eyes, turning away. What chaos, what suffering, such pa.s.sion, such love, such infinity, she felt faint, she might fall to the ground. These G.o.ds - and Christ upon His Cross.

She left the room and instinctively made her laborious way to the front of the building where the cool Greeks lived. She went automatically towards the Parthenon Frieze. The huge room was almost empty, there was a visiting group at the far end, nearer two or three solitaries. Mildred stood, calming herself, breathing deeply, not looking at anything, her eyes glazing over as if by the sea. She stood still, her arms hanging by her sides. How terribly strange the past was. Another civilisation, another image. Then suddenly something else, a mystery, Jackson. Surely Jackson would come back - or would he? Was he not after all a very strange being, a wandering avatar, and as she thought of him there arose a dim line of high mountains. And suddenly she thought, surely such a being could easily destroy himself, and tears rose in her eyes.

Mildred quickly blinked. Near the door, standing near to the Frieze, one of the solitaries, was a boy, young, a schoolboy. The boy was looking at her. She thought, can he be Bran? - He is Bran! I saw him with Edward and Anna, only they rushed off so quickly. The boy stood still. Mildred moved. He was looking at her. She wondered if he would recognise her. She went towards him.

'h.e.l.lo, Bran. Do you remember me? I'm Mildred.'

'Yes.'

'Your mother came round with Edward. They'll soon be married, won't they.'

'Yes.'

'That will be lovely.'

Bran looked at her silently. Then he said, 'I shall have a pony.' After that he turned to study the activities of the Frieze.

Mildred looked at them too. All this was so familiar to her. There was a boy, a thoughtful boy, about Bran's age, quietly helping a rider, perhaps his father, to adjust the length of his tunic, while the riderless horse moves on.

Bran said, 'There's a boy.'

'Yes, he is - '

As she looked at him she thought, just now he looks like Edward, how amusing! Of course he's just like Lewen. What a handsome child he is! Alas, that Lewen never lived to see him.

She said, 'You'll be going to school here in the autumn, won't you, you'll like that. They'll teach you Greek. I expect you already know some Latin.'

Bran, turning towards her, said, 'I know all Latin, and most Greek.' After which he returned his attention to the Frieze.

Mildred, disconcerted, said, 'Oh, that's good! How nice to meet you, of course we'll meet again, I'm sure you'll be happy here. Goodbye, Bran, au revoir.'

'Au revoir, Mildred.'

Mildred hurried away, immensely gratified by the farewell! She thought he sounds so like a French boy. That's charming! I expect he knows lots of languages! Oh I do hope he will be happy here - such a lovely child! And she wished that she had a child, and that that child was Bran.

Benet put down his pen. What was the use of going on like this? Innumerable others had done it better. His love-hate for Heidegger, and for Wittgenstein, was better kept to himself. He was not a scholar. He had really done, nothing. Long ago he had thought of writing a novel. He had begun one. It was put away somewhere. He had got nowhere with it anyhow. People, or some people, had once thought well of him. He had risen high in the Civil Service, he still studied, or at least read, philosophy. He had been a leader, an organiser. Or was all that really being done by Uncle Tim? Tim in his later years when he lived mostly at Penn, he had been the centre, the charmer, the star - far more interesting than Benet! Depression, thought Benet, as he rehea.r.s.ed these thoughts. That's it. Depression.

He was living, for the present, at Tara, and doing his work, such as it was, there. The weather had changed. Cold winds were blowing over London. It had been a dark afternoon. Now it was beginning to rain. He thought, it's the end of the season. The game is finished. It's all over. I'd better go back to Penn. But he didn't want to do that either. Things were changing, the younger generation were taking over, they were now in charge. Well, he should have noticed that years ago! Of course Marian would never return, he would never go to Australia. Edward was marrying Anna, she would run Hatting Hall, the great parties would be there, the centre of gaiety, the centre of activity, the centre of power, would be there. Edward would be transformed, he was transformed, he was now the strong man, the Lord of the Manor as his father had been. Now everything would fall into the lap of Lewen's grandson. Benet was pained by his inability to communicate with Bran. He felt that Bran regarded him with hostility. Such a beautiful boy, Lewen's son, soon to be a tall youth, at last to inherit Hatting Hall. How amazing, who would have imagined it, that Anna should marry Edward! And who, Benet wondered, would inherit Penndean?

These were some of Benet's fleeting and painful thoughts. However now he had an even more piercing pain in his breast. Jackson was gone. 'Who is to blame him?' as Owen had exclaimed after Benet had, miserably, foolishly, divulged the contents of his letter of dismissal. Of course the others had been questioned, but had nothing to offer. They think ill of me now, Benet said to himself, adding that he deserved such a judgement. So the days went by and Benet began to feel that he was isolated, refusing invitations and now (he felt) ceasing to receive them! He had never, he thought, felt so unhappy, except when Tim died. And how close to me Jackson came then- only I thrust him away. What's the matter with me? Is it just that I am ashamed of having written such a hasty angry cruel letter? I might have uttered my reasonable displeasure in a cooler tone. Was I not rationally displeased when Jackson went about helping others? Many such considerations were produced as excuses for Benet's irritated outcry. But, as he well knew, a fiercer and more fiery anguish was burning in his heart, a helpless yearning for something lost forever. He loved Jackson, and he had killed him, or rather killed himself.

At that moment the front door bell rang. Benet hurried out into the hall. He opened the door. It was raining. Rosalind and Tuan were standing on the doorstep. Benet was for a moment confused. Surely these two did not go together. He said vaguely, 'Oh - h.e.l.lo - do come in - '

'May we come in?' said Tuan.

'Yes, of course, I'm so glad to see you, come into the drawing room. Why you're quite wet, do just drop your coats and umbrellas in the hall. Yes, yes, come in.'

They came in, dropping their gear, and followed Benet into the drawing room. He noticed that they were both smartly dressed. The trio now stood beside the fireplace. Benet murmured, 'It's so cold today, I might as well light a fire.' Then he said in a business-like manner, 'Well, tell me your problem!'

'Oh, Benet - ' said Rosalind. And suddenly her eyes were filling with tears.

'My dear - ' Benet thought, it's trouble, oh what a nuisance, some catastrophe, bad news about Marian, to be unloaded upon me, or something to do with Rosalind, why does he bring her here, they don't know each other - Tuan put an arm round Rosalind's shoulders. She was now mopping her tears. She said, 'Benet, dear, listen, Tuan and I are going to get married!'

Then, holding each other, they both went into peals of joyous laughter.

Benet was so amazed that he stepped back with his mouth open. He was about to say 'Who are you both getting married to?' Then in the next instant he had seized upon Rosalind who was relinquishing Tuan, and kissed her ardently, and then came Benet and Tuan's embrace, and the laughing and the talking and the holding onto each other, and then they all sat on the sofa, one on each side of Benet and talking all at once.

'Oh I am so glad, so glad!' He was taking Tuan's hand.

'Oh thank you, thank you,' Tuan cried, then, 'Oh I mean, can I, Benet, I am so sorry, I am half mad, I can scarcely believe it's true - '

'It's true, it's true!' cried Rosalind. 'You are the first person we have told! Oh Benet, I love you so much, you have been a father to me, please now will you always be a father to us both, and we'll be just in the Register Office and you will be with us, you will won't you, oh if only Uncle Tim were here, you are great, and Tuan is great, and we are now and forever, and we thank you so much - '

'Thank you for telling me first,' said Benet. Turning to Tuan he thought, how young they are, and how tall and n.o.ble Tuan looks, like a Highland Chieftain, oh may they be happy! 'You will be so happy,' he said to them, 'I bless you - I won't tell anyone, I expect you would like to break the news yourselves.'

They had not thought about that, but said yes, they would like now to tell some of their friends, they would be having a little quiet secret wedding in a Register Office, and they would like him to come and perhaps just one or two others.

Benet was just wondering whether they knew about Edward and Anna when they cried out themselves about how wonderful that was. 'And of course Marian and Cantor are getting married,' said Rosalind, 'they are so happy, we have been talking to them on the telephone, and Mother is going over to see them, and then coming here to see us, and she is so pleased and she sends love to you by the way - '

Benet looked at them. He had gazed at Rosalind ever since she was a child. But Tuan, he realised, he scarcely knew at all. Now they were looking at each other and Benet thought, how handsome they are, and Ros with her soft golden hair cut above the shoulders and Tuan with his thick dark curly hair reaching down his neck, surely he is a good man, a lovely kind gentle man, she has chosen well - but what a surprise, and of course they would be penniless, Tuan has no proper job and Rosalind has no job at all! Her mother is a very uncertain quant.i.ty, she may be bankrupt by now! Of course I shall help them, I hope they will let me! He looked into Tuan's mysterious dark eyes and into Rosalind's pure blue eyes and wondered what their children would be like. Only after they had gone he realised he had not offered them a drink.

Benet did a lot of walking fast round the house and exclaiming and talking aloud to himself. What was to become of all these weddings? Nothing but surprises; he had expected Marian to marry Edward, then he had wondered if Rosalind might marry Edward, he had never expected Anna to appear from France, or Marian to go to Australia or young silent Tuan to seize hold of Ros. He had refrained from asking Tuan about his parentage, he must find that out. He was worried about Bran's hostility but hoped that it would pa.s.s. Would he, Benet, be invited to Australia? Would he become an intimate at Hatting Hall? Would Bran confide in him and love him? Would they all ask his advice? Or would he be quietly set aside? All these were instantaneous wandering pains. And now the most accusing of all. Rosalind had begun to say something about Jackson - but Tuan had somehow swiftly checked her. He must not be mentioned. Benet did not think that they had any news of Jackson - but they had intuited his, Benet's, shame, his helpless desire to recover what now would never be found again. Remorse.

Benet had considered returning to Penndean that evening but now it seemed to be too late. He went into the kitchen and ate some oddments standing up. He felt sick of himself and ready to weep. His pleasure in the forthcoming weddings had faded, they might even fill him with resentment. Pictures of his childhood began to rise up, how rude and unkind he had been to his father, how he had really not loved his parents at all. Things had gone wrong for him early in life, he had made them go wrong, he had even failed Uncle Tim, he had never really understood him, he had derided him and bossed him about. Such a great man - and Benet had ignored him. Now he, Benet, was suddenly useless and old. Had he ever enjoyed happiness, did he know what it was? The wind had gone down and the rain had ceased. He decided to leave the house and do his penitential walking outside. There was already a twilight over London. He put on a warm coat and a cap and began to walk at random, suddenly remembering a game he had played in childhood, Getting Lost in London. He had not played it, he recalled now, more than once or twice, since it was deemed to be dangerous! Benet was now ready for danger, for lostness. He set out from Tara, walking at first at random and attempting to lose himself. Soon however he found he was, after various circular wanderings, arriving at Earls Court station. He thought, this is no good, I'll go right into the centre. He took a train as far as Leicester Square, where he emerged, finding it raining again. By this time however he had discovered a new idea. He thought I must be in a really different place - somewhere like Brixton or Kennington or Clapham or Lambeth or Morden - places I have never visited, places unknown and far away, where I can really get lost. He went back down the escalator, and hurried along the corridor indicating Northern Line. As he reached the platform a train was coming in. The front of the train was marked MORDEN. He leapt on. His heart was beating fast. Getting Lost in London. He sat down and looked up at the railway map. Almost at once he saw EMBANKMENT. Next station but one. He had a brief period in which to reflect. Even then he hesitated, and rushed out just as the doors were closing.

Outside, Benet's crazy London game was over. It was not that he felt 'better'. He felt sick and frightened. He felt like a criminal who, prior to execution, is taken to the place of the crime. He began at first, leaving the station, to scuttle about, running away up Villiers Street towards the Strand. He reached the Strand, crossed the road, nearly being run over, and began to walk aimlessly along the pavement, looking into the windows of shops, in the direction of Waterloo Bridge. He paused for a while however outside the Adelphi Theatre and began slowly to make his way back. He stood still for a short while, then pressing through the crowds, crossed the road again. Here he walked cautiously down one of the streets parallel to Villiers Street, looking at the house where he used to live and where Jackson had first spoken to him. He felt a curious impulse to knock at the door. In fact he knocked, but no one answered. He walked down as far as the garden which ran beside the river, then returned into the evening rush. He went back to Villiers Street, then stopped at the Arches and walked a little way in. He returned and stood upon the pavement, streams of men and women, hurrying, brushed past him. He stared a while at pa.s.sing faces. Then he walked back down the hill toward the station. Underneath the railway bridge two men and a woman were standing. As he approached, the woman held out her hand to him. He fumbled in his pocket for a pound coin which he gave to her. He thought, why am I not like that too. And then, why do I think such thoughts, why am I here, oh G.o.d forgive me, except that I don't believe in G.o.d. He went into the station, intending to take a train, then stood looking out onto the Victoria Embankment. Just beyond was the Thames. He observed the thick stream of traffic and waited. Then he found himself standing at the foot of the steps leading up to the railway bridge; automatically he began to mount. Why was he doing this, he felt so tired and so senseless. At the top of the steps he paused. He thought, I am n.o.body now. He was the beginning of n.o.body. Now it was dark. The Thames below was full and quiet. It was dark on the bridge, a lit-up train rattled past. Benet turned to go down, then changed his mind and set off slowly toward the other side. Near the centre of the bridge a man was leaning upon the rail, looking down the river in the direction of Waterloo Bridge. Benet stopped, then moved on. The man turned to him.

Later Benet, looking back, wondered how he had remained upright. He also thought, or imagined, that Jackson's face was in some way lit up. He kept on walking until he was close to Jackson. Nearing, the hideous idea occurred to him of simply pa.s.sing by, with a nod, or with a calm stare ahead. How this had occurred to him seemed later incredible - certainly it was not contempt or hatred - it was fear. He thought, suppose I speak to him and he just ignores me. He stopped a short distance away from Jackson, who had now turned towards him and certainly recognised him. Benet thought, I shall speak, then pa.s.s on. He came a little closer, then paused. He said, 'Jackson.' This alone, this alone perhaps, was all that would be expected of him, all he would be allowed to offer, before he pa.s.sed by in silence. Stumbling, he went on however, 'I'm sorry.'

Jackson, turned now towards Benet and leaning against the railing of the bridge, said nothing. Very close to them another brightly lit train rushed by. Then silence against the hum of the city.

Benet, wanting, needing now, to say just one more thing, then slink away, said, 'You have been very kind to us-to me-I am very sorry.' He had by now noticed that Jackson was wearing shabby clothes such as he had worn when Benet first met him.

As Jackson still said nothing, Benet felt he was being dismissed, he could not simply stay there uttering feeble servile remarks, his misery in any case was making him speechless. He had now to decide whether he was to walk on, past Jackson, or walk back again the way he had come. He began to turn back, then decided to go forward.

Jackson said, 'Wait a minute.'

After this he turned from Benet and looked away down the river towards St Paul's.

Benet waited in silence.

Jackson, turning back, said, 'Why are you here?'

Benet said promptly, 'Looking for you.'

Jackson reflected on this, nodded his head, then turned away again towards the river.

Benet, wondering if this were a blunt dismissal, or seeking for something to keep the conversation alive, said, 'Have you got another job?'

Jackson, turning toward Benet, and now leaning with his back to the river, gazed at Benet and said nothing.

Benet, blundering on, said, 'Then I suppose you're here for-like when I first met you - ?' This was an even more tactless remark. Benet at that moment was overcome by something in Jackson's look, his stare, his untouchability. He wanted to say something about this, but of course it was impossible. Jackson was, naturally enough, trying to get rid of him. He thought of saying that he would be very glad to employ Jackson again, only this too was impossible! He said, 'I am sorry that I wrote that letter to you, I repented it very soon after - then I couldn't find you.'

'That's all right,' said Jackson. He continued to look at Benet but in what now seemed a rather bored or dreamy manner. He was waiting for Benet to go.

Benet, reduced to total misery, was finding himself unable to continue the conversation. He thought: I shall never see him again.

At that moment a burly man appeared suddenly beside them out of the dark. Benet thought: this is his friend! That is the end! Then it was clear that the man was asking for money. Benet instantly produced two pound coins and gave them to him. The man, who appeared to be grateful, murmured 'Thanks,' then disappeared. Benet wished he had given him more money. Jackson had not moved.

Benet said suddenly, 'How terrible. I wish Uncle Tim were here - '

The unexpected mention of Uncle Tim made a change of atmosphere. Why did I say that, Benet thought. Keep up your bright swords! Are we at war then - or what? He was suddenly conscious of being terribly hungry. He said, 'Look, let's go and have something to eat.' What a mad thing to say! He thought, of course he won't! He just wants to get rid of me. Oh G.o.d, I won't ever see him ever again - but it can't be like that. He said, 'Jackson, you must not be angry with me, please forgive me - after all -'

Jackson detached himself from the bridge. He said, 'Let us walk, anyway.' They began to walk back towards the station.

TEN.