The Flight From the Enchanter by Iris Murdoch
This degree of complication would have been bad enough. It was when Hunter tried to speculate about the intentions of the would-be purchaser that his head really began to reel. After a good deal of conjecturing, in the course of which he astonished himself by his capacity to conjure up the grotesque and the fantastic, he began to conclude that he had better not sell. Hunter said to himself, without a lead from Rosa, I can’t do it. I’ve said No, and I’ll stick to it. But he added to himself, even more secretly: Of course if Mischa Fox approaches me in person, that will be another matter.
It was some indeterminate time in the afternoon, and Hunter, who had had no lunch, was sloping along Kensington High Street. He noticed that he was feeling rather odd, and could not decide whether this odd feeling was hunger or whether it was the sensation of being followed, a sensation which Hunter had suffered from intermittently ever since his fourteenth year, and which had of late been much aggravated by frequent visits to detective films, a form of entertainment to which he was greatly addicted. He kept looking round quickly to see if he was perhaps really being followed, but although almost everyone within sight was looking sinister, he could see nobody to accuse. He dodged into Barker’s and bought himself a veal-and-ham pie with the intention of eating it in Kensington Gardens, since it was quite a warm day. He emerged from the shop and then turned round to inspect his reflection in the glass door. He took a comb furtively from his pocket and dashed it two or three times through his hair. As he was about to replace the comb he saw something which chilled him with horror and made him pause and gape at his image in the glass.
His features had changed. Another face, a familiar and dreaded one, had come to take the place of his own. He was looking straight into the eyes of Calvin Blick. After the first shock, Hunter realized that what had happened was that Blick was standing inside the shop, on the other side of the glass door, and looking out at him through it. Hunter turned away abruptly and dashed across the road, narrowly missing a bus and two taxis. With mingled shame and fear he put the comb away and began to walk quickly in the direction of Kensington Gardens on the north side of the street. So I was being followed! thought Hunter. I’ll soon shake him off!
After he had walked about fifty yards he slackened his pace and cast a quick glance to the right. He could see, a little way behind him, on the south side of the street, a figure which he took to be Calvin Blick proceeding in a leisurely way in the same direction as himself. What can he want? Hunter wondered, and he slackened his pace a little more. By the time he reached the first gate of Kensington Gardens Calvin was almost level with him on the other side of the road, walking at an even pace and showing no sign of being aware of Hunter’s existence. Hunter did not turn into the Gardens, but kept walking along the pavement keeping an eye on Calvin. By now Calvin was if anything a little ahead of him. Blast the fellow, thought Hunter, what is he up to? He was consumed with curiosity.
At that moment Calvin turned to the right into Palace Gate, leaving the main road altogether, and disappeared. Hunter felt first astonishment and then frenzy. He stopped dead. An instant later he was plunging back across the street. He had to wait half-way across while hooting and infuriated traffic missed him by inches — and, when he reached the corner of Palace Gate, Calvin, who must have accelerated rapidly once be was round the corner, was a long way ahead. Hunter began to run. He caught up with Calvin just as the latter was about to turn into Canning Place.
‘Look here, Blick,’ said Hunter breathlessly.
Calvin stopped, turning round with a surprised expression. ‘Why, my dear Mr Keepe!’ he said, ‘what a shock you gave me.’
‘Look here — ’ said Hunter.
‘You have all my attention!’ said Calvin.
‘You were following me,’ said Hunter.
‘I assure you,’ said Calvin, ‘you are mistaken, Mr Keepe. I was quite unaware until this moment that I had the privilege of sharing Kensington with you on this very bright and sunny afternoon.’
‘Oh, stop it!’ said Hunter. He was mad with embarrassment and exasperation. ‘You know you were following me. You want something. What is it?’
Calvin looked at him with delighted amusement. ‘I am afraid you are suffering from delusions,’ he said. ‘If I were following you, why should you now be quite out of breath from running after me?’
Hunter was very red. He mumbled something inarticulate and then turned on his heel. Calvin let him go nearly ten yards and then called, ‘Wait a minute!’ Hunter stopped and looked round. He waited, and then as Calvin said nothing more and stood his ground, he came slowly back.
‘What do you want?’ said Hunter savagely.
‘Don’t be so angry with me, Mr Keepe,’ said Calvin. ‘It just occurs to me that since we have met, on this delightful afternoon, there is something that we might profitably discuss.’
‘If it’s the Artemis, the answer’s No,’ said Hunter.
‘It’s not exactly the Artemis’ said Calvin. ‘There’s something else which I should like to suggest to you. I know you’re very busy, but have you got a moment?’
Hunter hesitated. He did not want to oblige Calvin — but he was very curious, and he thought it just possible that the new move might be to suggest a meeting between himself and Mischa Fox.
‘All right,’ he said, ‘but make it snappy. I’ve got an important engagement at five.’ This was untrue.
‘How kind of you!’ said Calvin.’ Would you mind walking along with me? I can’t discuss business in the open air. In fact, I was just on the way to my studio. If you don’t mind coming along, we could have a chat while I print a couple of photos.’
Calvin walked on briskly, and Hunter followed in silence. They walked the length of two streets and then turned into a rather dark mews, where it seemed to have been raining. Calvin produced a latch-key and opened a rickety door off which faded blue paint immediately fell in flakes. Inside the door was a dark hole of a corridor. Calvin went ahead and put on a light at the far end. Hunter stood undecidedly at the entrance. The electric light showed him a damp stone floor. ‘Come in and close the door behind you,’ said Calvin. His voice echoed.
Hunter came in and shut the door. The daylight disappeared. Calvin was standing under the lamp at the end of the corridor, his hair illuminated, but his face in shadow. Hunter came towards him. It was slimy underfoot.
‘Some stairs here,’ said Calvin. Hunter saw him vanishing down a twist of stone stairs. He followed, and as he reached the bottom step, the light above him went off.
‘Stay still,’ said Calvin’s voice, ‘till I find the switch.’ Another light went on, revealing another corridor. It was, Hunter noticed, extremely cold. He put up the collar of his coat.
‘This way,’ said Calvin, ‘and keep close behind me. These cellars go on for miles, you know. You could easily get lost. And the electric lights go out automatically after a minute.’
Calvin turned a corner and opened a door. ‘This is my little studio,’ he said.
Hunter stumbled in. An amber-coloured light was burning in the far corner, its face turned to the wall. There was a smell of science. Hunter stood still, taking in nothing, concentrated upon the task of showing no signs that he was feeling frightened.
‘What a strange place I’ he said. He began to look about him. The room, which was dimly lit only by the amber lamp, had walls of rough brick which had been whitewashed but were now gilded by the light. It was meticulously clean and neat. In the centre stood two tables. On the nearer one were piled a number of thick books, and on the farther one stood a tall black machine. Against the wall was what appeared to be an electric hot-plate, on which were ranged a number of dishes of liquid. Above this, attached to the wall, was a large clock, its face marked out in seconds. At the far end of the room, under the shelf where the lamp was standing, and set deep into the floor like a natural pool, was a large zinc bath. The place had something of the air of what Hunter imagined an operating-theatre to look like. An electric fire, which wa
‘Ever seen a photograph printed?’ asked Calvin, who had put on a white overall and was busy collecting bottles, scissors, tongs and various implements which Hunter did not recognize from a drawer in one of the tables. ‘No? Well, this may interest you. You can even help if you like.’
‘Look here,’ said Hunter, ‘you were going to tell me some thing. What is it?’
‘In a minute,’ said Calvin. ‘Don’t be impatient. This little job won’t take long, and then we can be free to talk. Would you mind turning that switch there beside you?’
Hunter turned the switch and the hand of the clock began to revolve round its sixty-divisioned face.
‘I think the hot-plate is on, isn’t it?’ said Calvin. ‘Just touch it would you? Yes. It’s thermostatically controlled so that the developing solution stays at an even temperature. Chemistry and temperature go together, you know. Now I must see to the bath.’
He turned a tap, and the water began to murmur softly. ‘That’s ready to use,’ said Calvin. ‘The water-level is controlled by a funnel in the outlet pipe so that the water is quite deep and always in motion. That’s for washing the photos after they’ve been developed and fixed.’
Hunter stood on the brink of the bath and saw below his feet the water swirling in a dark fountain. Then he turned back to stare at the huge face and the moving finger of the clock. He protested no more. He was fascinated; but he was also afraid. He began watching Calvin.
Calvin now had a camera in his hand and was fiddling with it. He drew forth a large crystalline object. ‘This is my eye,’ he said to Hunter. ‘This is the truthful eye that sees and remembers. The lens of my camera. You couldn’t buy an eye like this for five hundred pounds.’
He approached the black machine on the table and began to fit the lens into it. ‘This is the enlarger,’ said Calvin. He swung it round. The enlarger consisted of a big black metal head which was joined to a thick shaft by a parallelogram of adjustable steel arms. Calvin turned a switch and lights became visible inside the head. Beneath it was a wooden board upon which Calvin now began to fix a sheet of white paper.
‘The camera is really like an eye,’ said Calvin, ‘in that it reverses the image. In the human eye the image is turned right way round again by the brain. In the case of a photograph this machine acts as a brain. What I am going to do now is to print from negatives.’ He reached for one of the bulky books on the other table, and Hunter saw as he flipped the pages over that each page held half a dozen strips of tiny negatives, clipped firmly into place.
‘Here’s the one I want to print,’ said Calvin. He drew out a strip of negatives and slipped it into an aperture in the head of the enlarger; and as he drew the black strip rapidly along, the light shining from above flashed first one and then another of the pictures on to the white sheet below.
‘This is it,’ said Calvin, and began to fix the negative into position. ‘I haven’t got the thing focused, so you can’t see the picture properly yet.’ A blurred rectangle, in various shades of grey, was projected on to the paper.
‘Now you can help,’ said Calvin. ‘You see those three trays of liquid on the hot plate? The first contains the developing fluid, the middle one is plain water, and the third one is the fixer which prevents the print from being affected any further by exposure to light. In a moment I’m going to put this machine into action, and I want you to count for me twelve seconds on the clock. Then I shall give you the print and I want you to hold it in the developing fluid with these tongs, moving it gently to and fro, for one minute. I’ll count that time for you. The picture ought to begin to appear after about thirty seconds. Then you remove it into the water, and then at once into the fixer. From the fixer it goes into the bath. All right?’
‘All right,’ said Hunter. He moved and spoke like an automaton. He could hear the soft continual murmur of the water and the ticking of the clock. The only other sound was the beating of his heart.
‘We’ll wait till the hand reaches one again,’ said Calvin. They both stood watching the clock. ‘Now’ he said, and a switch on the enlarger clicked over. Hunter began to count aloud, ‘One, two …’ Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Calvin had placed his hand between the beam of light and the paper and was opening and closing his fingers above the left-hand side of the picture. His hand was very long and brightly illuminated, fire was flashing from his rings and a band of light fell on to his white cuff. With an effort Hunter kept his eyes on the clock. ‘This is called “shading”,’ said Calvin’s voice. ‘I am controlling the amount of light which falls upon the print. A delicate operation.’
‘Twelve,’ said Hunter. The switch clicked back, and the light inside the head of the enlarger was extinguished at the same time. The room was darker.
‘Good!’ said Calvin. He seemed excited. ‘Now we’ll develop!’ He took a pair of surgical scissors and snipped round the edge of the paper, which was still quite plain. His hands were golden in the amber light. He laid the paper down and cleaned a pair of tongs with a strongly smelling rag.
‘Hold the print with these tongs,’ said Calvin, ‘and move it in the solution as I told you. Soon you’ll see the picture appearing. It’s like magic. I never get tired of seeing the picture come.’
Hunter took the tongs awkwardly and picked up the piece of paper.
‘Wait for the clock,’ said Calvin. ‘Now.’
Hunter plunged the print into the solution and Calvin began to count. Hunter stared at the white paper as he moved it gently about Nothing was happening. ‘Twenty-five,’ said Calvin. Then something faint and greyish began to appear. Hunter could see the outlines of human figures. ‘Thirty,’ said Calvin. The picture was coming. ‘Thirty-five,’ said Calvin.
Hunter uttered a piercing cry and dropped the tongs into the solution. He turned on Calvin. ‘You devil!’ he cried. ‘That’s why you brought me here! You devil!’
‘Look out!’ cried Calvin, ‘you’ll spoil it!’ He moved, thrusting Hunter aside, and seized the print, dipping it into the water and then into the fixer; and as Hunter reached out to snatch it from him he hurled it into the bath. Stumbling after him, Hunter fell to his knees on the edge of the bath. In the deep swirling water he could see the print turning rapidly over and over like a falling leaf. He plunged his arm in, coat sleeve and all, in a vain attempt to catch it as it swept madly round with the circling water. He touched it but it escaped, turning and turning its image towards him and away. Hunter grovelled upon the slippery edge of the bath. At last he caught the print by a corner and drew it out. He stood up, the water dripping from his coat, and examined the print carefully. What it represented was Rosa in the arms of the Lusiewiaz brothers.
Hunter looked at it for a moment and then tore it to pieces. He raised his eyes to where, very close to him, Calvin was standing. He was immobile, his face half gilded, staring at Hunter with an expression of triumphant intensity. Both men were breathing heavily. Hunter said nothing, but without warning he lunged violently in the direction of the enlarger. Like a flash and with the precision of a machine Calvin put out his foot, and as Hunter tripped he took his arm in a crushing grip and forced him to the floor. Hunter looked up at him wide-eyed, and as his arm was released and he rose, Calvin was standing between him and the negative. Then Calvin turned slowly and in a leisurely manner removed the strip from the enlarger, replaced it in the book, and put the book in a cupboard, which he locked, and pocketed the key.
Hunter stood perfectly still. His face was blazing and he was struggling for breath. He was very near to tears. He tried to say something, and as he unlocked his throat his eyes spilled over. He reached out for the rag which lay on the electric plate close to his hand and applied it to his face.
‘Don’t get that stuff in your eyes,’ said Calvin, ‘unless you want to be blind!’
Hunter’s eyes began to hurt violently
Calvin stood beside him, looking down curiously. ‘Why are you so upset?’ he asked. ‘This seems to me to be a fuss about practically nothing. In that picture your sister is as beautiful as a princess and just as proper. It’s a very fine photograph and not, if I may put it so, over-exposed!’
‘You’re a devil!’ said Hunter, still choking. ‘I didn’t know anyone could exist like you!’ He had given up any thoughts of dignity and knelt in a pool of water at Calvin’s feet. ‘Where did you get that picture?’
‘I took it myself,’ said Calvin.
‘I don’t believe you,’ said Hunter.
‘Why not?’ said Calvin. ‘Do you imagine that your sister would have arranged to have it taken? I’d no idea, incidentally, that she had so much hair.’
With a cry like an animal, Hunter reached out and grasped Calvin’s legs with all his force. For a moment they swayed, and then Calvin brought his hand down like a hammer on the back of Hunter’s neck. He fell, half-stunned, and then was conscious that Calvin was propping him against the wall and dashing water into his face.
‘Really, Hunter,’ said Calvin, as he hurled another handful of water,‘ you do surprise me! I hope you don’t mind my using your Christian name? I feel by now that I know you quite well. I must say that I neither intended nor expected this undignified struggle. But perhaps I am to blame. This childish device of letting you print the photograph yourself only occurred to me at the last moment, and I’m afraid I was carried away by my instinct for the dramatic.’