The Philosopher's Pupil

  John Robert, as if what he had just said was something perfectly ordinary, went on, ‘I shall settle some money upon her, not a great sum. I hope, of course, that she will go on to the university if she proves able to. Marriage should not interfere with that.’

  ‘But I don’t want to marry her! I don’t want to marry anybody!’

  ‘You haven’t even met her yet.’ John Robert said ‘even’ in a tone which suggested that he had understood Tom to say the exact opposite of what he had said.

  ‘But I don’t want to meet her, I have to go back to London tomorrow — ’

  ‘Surely that is not so.’

  ‘All right, it isn’t, but — ’

  ‘I would be glad if we could arrange now — ’

  ‘But why, what is this, why me, what about her, she’s a child, she won’t want to marry, and if she does she won’t want to marry me. I mean things aren’t like that — ’

  ‘Oftener than we think,’ said the philosopher, ‘we can make things be the way we desire.’

  ‘But why - why marry her?’

  ‘Do you suppose that I am simply inviting you to seduce her?’

  Tom felt positively guilty before John Robert’s indignant look. Was he then already so far entangled that he could be accused of some sort of levity? It had occurred to his confused mind that John Robert was some sort of crazy voyeur. He seemed to be offering Tom his grand-daughter, but with what motive? He was a madman from California, a dangerous crazy man. But Tom was, at that moment, too dominated by John Robert, too much under the spell of his high serious tone, to be able to see his proposal in any crudely sinister light. He did, however, very much wish that he was somewhere else, that he was free again as he had been.

  ‘Look,’ said Tom, ‘let’s take this slowly. I mean, what’s this idea for?’

  ‘I should have thought,’ said the philosopher, ‘that it was clear what I wanted. In many parts of the world marriages are arranged. I am attempting to arrange this one.’

  ‘But — ’

  ‘It is often said that an arranged marriage gives the best hope of happiness.’

  ‘Not for liberated people. I mean she hasn’t grown up in purdah!’

  ‘She has had a very sheltered upbringing,’ John Robert said primly.

  ‘Yes, but that’s not a reason - really I - why try to arrange this —?’

  ‘I want to see her settled.’

  Tom thought, he wants to get rid of the child, he wants to palm her off on someone he thinks he can intimidate! He said, ‘But why choose me? I told you I was going to get a second class degree.’

  ‘A middling talent makes a more serene life.’

  Tom, incensed, said, ‘But I might become a great writer, and you know how selfish writers are.’

  John Robert replied gloomily, ‘Some risks must be taken.’

  ‘But the world is full of young men - what about your pupils - there must be someone —?’

  ‘I do not think a philosopher would be suitable.’

  ‘Why, are philosophers under a curse?’

  John Robert took this exclamation seriously. ‘Yes.’

  ‘All right, but there are plenty of men around who are not philosophers! You must have had some positive idea in your head when you selected me. Or have you already tried dozens —?’

  ‘No! Only you.’

  ‘But why —?’

  John Robert hesitated. Then he said, ‘There are, it is true, accidental features involved. No doubt I could have made a more - a more brilliant choice, if I may put it so. But if I had made a contest of all the world I would have consumed time and probably bred confusion. I want it all to be simple.’

  ‘Simple! I was available and you thought I’d agree!’

  ‘I thought,’ said John Robert, ‘that you - I have the impression that you - I have been told that you have a happy temperament. I wonder if you realize how rare that is?’

  ‘No - yes - but — ’

  ‘I want my grand-daughter to be happy.’

  ‘Yes, of course, but — ’

  ‘You seem to be a clean-living young man.’ Echoes of John Robert’s Methodist childhood, and some American campuses, were in the tone of this utterance, which sounded to Tom, although it had some echoes for him too, utterly ridiculous in the context.

  ‘But I said I’d had girls!’

  ‘Some experience is desirable. I assume you are not promiscuous.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ said Tom, though he was not sure just what standard of clean-living he was thereby claiming.

  ‘There you are then,’ said John Robert, as if this finally proved Tom’s suitability for and acceptance of his plan. ‘I do not want her,’ he went on, ‘to enter a world of vulgar sexuality. I want her innocence to be respected. I want a simple clear arrangement, without - confused situations or - false melodrama.’

  ‘I appreciate,’ said Tom, picking up John Robert’s measured tone, ‘that you do not want to waste your time on this matter. I am sure you have a great many more important things to do. You want to get all this fixed up and finished with!’

  John Robert ignored or perhaps did not notice the sarcasm. He said, ‘Finished with, yes. Some money will, of course, come with her, as I told you.’ The ‘of course’ was uttered as to an established suitor. He added, ‘I need hardly mention that she has had no experience - she is - a virgin.’

  Tom felt that he was being steadily entangled simply by forms of words. He looked away from the philosopher’s face and gazed, blinking, out of the window. He saw, two or three gardens away in the middle distance, a man in a tree. The man was sitting astride a branch and holding something, perhaps a saw. Tom immediately thought about Christ entering Jerusalem. There must be some picture, he thought, where there is a man up a tree watching Christ passing by. How ludicrous and weird it is that I am sitting here and watching a man up a tree while I try to think what to say to this perfect lunatic. How can I get out? Of course it was all crazy, but he must be polite to the old eccentric. And of course it was, in a way, flattering … and awfully interesting …

  He closed his eyes, then looked down at the threadbare red-and-blue Axminster carpet which at once began dancing and jumping before his gaze. Now the blue was the background, now the red was. The carpet was flashing at him like a lighthouse.

  ‘Well?’ said John Robert.

  ‘Have you told her —?’ Tom was endeavouring to focus once more upon the big face which now seemed to overhang the room like a pendent rock. John Robert seemed to be getting larger. Soon he would resemble Polyphemus.

  ‘No, of course not,’ said John Robert, as if this were obvious.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘When and if you agree, I shall inform her.’

  ‘But I can’t agree, it isn’t possible — ’

  ‘In that case I will ask you to go. I am sorry I have taken up your time.’

  ‘Wait a minute — ’ I can’t go now, thought Tom in anguish, I can’t! He said, ‘She won’t like me, why should she? And perhaps I won’t like her - and anyway it’s daft.’

  ‘Naturally,’ said John Robert, ‘I do not expect you to promise to succeed. I doubt if, except in certain simple cases, it is conceptually possible to promise to succeed.’ He paused for a moment to consider this, then went on, ‘I want you to promise to try.’ He added, ‘I should require you to promise to try.’

  Tom plunged his hands into his curly hair and pulled. ‘But you can’t control people like this — ’

  ‘I can attempt to. You are perfectly free to say no, and if you do meet her you are both perfectly free to decide against the plan. In which case I shall try again.’

  ‘With another man.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh God!’

  ‘I do not see,’ said John Robert, ‘that I am proposing anything particularly unreasonable. Nobody is being forced to do anything.’

  I am, thought Tom. It must be hypnosis. He said, scarcely crediting his own words, ‘May I think it over
?’

  ‘No. Either you agree now to meet her with a view to marriage — ’

  ‘How can I meet her with a view to marriage? I’ve never seen her, she’s seventeen, I’m twenty, it’s not - it’s not the picture, it’s not the scene — ’

  ‘All right, then I bid you farewell. I am grateful to you for having come.’

  ‘No, no, this is most unfair, how can I say - it’s all so extraordinary — ’

  ‘I should have thought the situation was fairly clear. You don’t have to do anything except be serious.’

  ‘But I can’t just make myself be your sort of serious, I mean taking this as serious — ’

  ‘Come, Mr McCaffrey, you do not think that I am jesting.’

  ‘No, of course not, I just mean — ’

  ‘As I say, you can try. You can keep the end in view. I should add that if you decide at this stage to proceed no further then I must request you to make another promise.’

  ‘Another promise?’

  ‘You have already promised not to reveal to anyone what has passed between us today.’

  ‘Have I? Well, yes— ’

  ‘I must also ask you to promise, should you decide not to proceed in this matter, not ever to meet or become acquainted with Miss Meynell.’

  ‘But how can — ’

  ‘And, should you try and fail, you must engage never to see or approach her again.’

  ‘I don’t see — ’

  ‘You are not a fool. You must understand the point of these requests.’

  ‘Oh - yes - I suppose so — ’

  ‘Well, will you make the attempt?’

  The phrase ‘make the attempt’ rang in Tom’s ears like the rattle of a chain - or was it more like a bugle call? He thought, is this madman carefully and by magical words, by little planned psychological movements, making me his prisoner? Or is it all random and crazy? Will what I say have consequences? Should he, he wondered, see it as a trap, or as an ordeal, a quest? Why should he accept such a ridiculous uncanny sort of plan? Except that … he could not by now perhaps bear not to … could he, in leaving the room, just leave it all behind? All sorts of emotions which he could not understand were already engaged.

  Tom said desperately, just to gain a few seconds more time, ‘But do you really mean it - everything that you’ve said?’

  ‘Don’t ask idle questions. Concentrate your mind.’

  Tom thought, am I being hypnotized? Am I going to undertake this insane business just to oblige him, just to obey him, just, oh heavens, not to be separated from him? He said, ‘All right, I’ll try.’

  John Roberts gave a long sigh. He said, ‘Good - good - that’s settled then.’

  ‘But,’ Tom gabbled, ‘it’ll be no use, it’s certain not to work, she won’t like me, we’re bound to dislike each other, it’s all impossible, we won’t get on, she’ll hate the idea — ’

  ‘You have agreed to try, further speculation is pointless. You will of course speak of this conversation to no one. And when you approach her, use every discretion. This is not an escapade. There must be nothing noisy, nothing public.’

  ‘But people will know I’ve met her — ’

  ‘There is no need for this to become a subject of gossip. I desire that it should not. The Slipper House is secluded.’

  The phrase sent Tom’s imagination reeling. ‘All right, but — ’

  ‘Am I to infer from the fact that you seemed unaware of Miss Meynell’s arrival that you are not staying at Belmont?’

  ‘No. I’m at 41 Travancore Avenue. Down the Tweed Mill end.’

  John Robert wrote the address down in a notebook. ‘And now,’ he said, ‘it is time for me to go to the Institute. We will not walk together.’

  ‘But, wait, what am I to do, what do you want me to do, will you take me to her?’ Like mating dogs, he thought.

  ‘I shall have nothing more to do with the matter.’

  ‘Nothing more to —?’

  ‘You will make your own arrangements about meeting her.’

  ‘But you’ll tell her?’

  ‘Yes— ’

  ‘But how am I to do it?’

  ‘I leave that to your - experience.’

  John Robert had risen and Tom stumbled up. He watched the philosopher put on his overcoat and gloves and a brown woollen cap which he pulled down over his ears.

  Tom realized there was something that he had not asked and which in so dangerous a situation it would be as well to have clarified. ‘Can we - suppose we - well - make love - people do now when they’re not sure - and then she decides not — ’

  The question seemed to annoy, even dismay, John Robert. This possibility was evidently new to his imagination. He frowned. ‘We need not look so far ahead.’

  ‘But I’d like to know — ’

  ‘I have not enjoyed discussing this matter and I do not want to discuss it any further. We have said enough.’ He spoke as if the whole disagreeable problem had been forced upon him by Tom.

  Tom stood aside to let Rozanov sidle past him. They went into the hall where they stood awkwardly face to face for a moment. Rozanov was as tall as Tom. Tom smelt the philosopher’s garments, a philosophical smell of sweat and thought. Rozanov fumbled behind him, undid the front door and backed out of it. Tom followed him out and closed the door.

  ‘Now I go to the right and you go to the left. Remember your promises.’

  The bulky man began to recede down the street until he came to Burkestown High Road and disappeared from view. Tom watched him go, then turned and walked in the other direction as far as the Green Man. The Green Man was open, but Tom did not go in. He was already like a drunken person, his head whirling and his heart dilated with a very queer mixture of pain and fear and joy. Joy? Why on earth joy? Was it simply that he was flattered by this amazing attention? He kept saying to himself, he’s mad, it doesn’t matter, it’s not real, I’m not involved in anything! He walked beyond the pub, as far as the level crossing and watched a train go by. Then he turned back.

  When Tom, on his way back to Travancore Avenue, had crossed the eighteenth-century bridge and got as far as the Crescent and reached the middle of the curve, he saw Scarlett-Taylor waiting for him at the other end. As he passed number 29, the home of the senior Osmores, Robin Osmore and his wife happened to be looking out of one of the tall windows of their handsome drawing-room on the first floor. Robin said, ‘Why there’s Tom McCaffrey. What a handsome boy he has grown up to be.’

  Mrs Osmore said nothing. She resented the way in which everyone, even her husband, praised Tom as if, by common consent, he had been elected to be a sort of hero. He was no better-looking than Gregory and not half as clever. She mourned Gregory’s absence and was permanently wounded by his imprudent marriage to that pert Judith Craxton child. Oh why had Greg not married Anthea Eastcote, as Mrs Osmore had a thousand times urged him to do, ever since they were children together at the Crescent play school? She was also annoyed that Gregory had lent his house to Tom without telling her (she learnt it at the Baths). She felt sure that Tom, who was so careless and thoughtless, would do the house some serious damage, perhaps burn it down. He might even wear Greg’s clothes. It would all end in tears.

  Meanwhile as, filled with foreboding and curiosity, Emma left the house and walked toward the Crescent whence Tom was likely to return, he had been reflecting on the mysterious nature of physical love. What after all does it consist in? What makes it absolutely unlike anything else at all? Suddenly the reorientation of the world round one illumined point, all else in shadow. The total alteration of corporeal being, the minute electric sensibility of the nerves, the tender expectancy of the skin. The omnipresence of a ghostly sense of touch. The awareness of organs. The absolute demand for the presence of the beloved, the categorical imperative, the haunting. The fire that burns, the sun that expands, the beauty of all things. The certainty; and with it the great sad cool knowledge of change and decay. Emma was never on good terms with his own strong feeli
ngs, and with half of himself was determined not to love Tom, not to love him at all, since he was not yet in love. Even as he lay, he too, in the angelic clutch and felt Tom, with such wonderful trust, falling asleep in his arms, as he lay and held Tom feeling as protective as God and as all-powerful, while desire was blessedly diffused in a cloud of anguish, he was even then coldly planning how he would minimize, belittle and liquidate this happening as a part of his life, making it small and without consequence. He gloomily observed some utterly new happiness, something created ex nihilo, which had come to him and put its finger upon him. And when, this very morning, Tom had put his arms round his neck and cried ‘I love you,’ Emma had felt the joyful ‘whiff of eternity’ which accompanies any real love. But it would not do. He knew how impulsive and affectionate Tom was, how little perhaps it meant. Tom was a lover of all the world, constantly reaching out his warm hands to touch things and people. In any case, Tom was framed to delight in and be the delight of women. Maybe I’d better go to Brussels and see my mother, Emma thought. But he knew he would not.

  ‘What happened?’ said Emma. ‘What did he want?’

  ‘He wants me to marry his grand-daughter.’

  ‘What? No. You’re joking.’

  ‘Honest! He wants to dispose of her, he wants to marry her off, and he’s chosen me! Isn’t that crazy, isn’t it a laugh?’ And Tom laughed and continued to laugh as he look hold of his friend’s arm and began to lead him back in the direction of Travancore Avenue.

  Emma pulled away. ‘But how - so you know this girl?’

  ‘No! Never set eyes on her! I think she’s never been here, she’s been living in America.’

  ‘He must be mad.’

  ‘Mad as a hatter, crazy as a coot, nutty as a fruitcake! And fancy his wanting me!’

  ‘You told him politely to get lost.’

  ‘No. I’ve agreed! The marriage is arranged! All I’ve got to do now is make her acquaintance! She’s in Ennistone — ’

  ‘Tom—’