The Sandcastle by Iris Murdoch
‘There!’ he said. ‘We ought to get away now. Will you take her, or shall I?’
‘I will,’ said Miss Carter. ‘You watch what happens.’
Mor squatted near the wheel while Miss Carter got in again and started the engine. Breathlessly Mor watched the wheel begin to rotate. It was all right. It was biting well upon the dry bracken. Mor was about to call out, when suddenly something happened. There was a violent jolt, and the car stopped again. Mor saw with surprise that the wheel had risen clear of the ground and was turning in the air. He jumped up.
‘What’s happened now?’ said Miss Carter. She sounded alarmed. The car was tilting towards the river.
Mor ran round the back of the car. He looked at the other back wheel. A section of the bank had given way under it, and it hung in mid-air above the water. The Riley seemed to be resting now upon its back axle, straddled across the bank.
‘Get out of the car,’ said Mor.
‘No, let me try again,’ said Miss Carter.
‘Get out,’ said Mor, ‘at once.’
She got out and joined him. When she saw the position of the back wheels she gave a gasp of distress.
‘I am extremely sorry,’ said Mor. ‘This is all completely my fault. But apologies aren’t much use. The thing is to decide what to do.
‘Supposing,’ said Miss Carter, ‘we were to wedge something under the inside back wheel, and you were to push hard from behind, we might get her to jump forward.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Mor. ‘We’d have to raise the axle somehow. The car is tilted too much already.’
‘Suppose we jacked her up,’ said Miss Carter, ‘and got her on an even keel and then lowered her slowly again.’
‘We wouldn’t be able to jack her up,’ said Mor. ‘The jack would just sink into that muddy ground. Anyhow, as we lowered her she would just sink into the same position.’
Miss Carter was worried, but by no means distracted. She was thinking hard. Before Mor could stop her, she was crawling underneath the Riley.
Don’t do that, Miss Carter,‘ said Mor sharply. ’With the car tilting like that it’s not safe.‘
Miss Carter emerged. Her knees and the hem of her dress were covered in mud. She had thrown her shoes and stockings away into the grass.
‘I wanted to see what exactly the axle was doing,’ she said. ‘In fact it’s resting on a stone. What I suggest is that we put something large and firm underneath the other wheel, and then dig the stone away. Then the car will be resting on three wheels again.’
‘It’s no use,’ said Mor. ‘What we need now is a tractor.’
‘Well, let’s try this first,’ she said firmly, and already she was running away into the wood. Mor followed her. He felt nothing now except an almost physical distress about the car.
Miss Carter soon found a flat mossy stone and Mor helped her to carry it back towards the river. It was very heavy. Mor took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. They began to introduce the stone underneath the wheel. It became very muddy and slippery in the process.
‘This is a crazy proceeding,’ said Mor. He squatted back on his heels and looked at his companion. Miss Carter was very flushed. There were patches of mud on the dark red of her cheeks. Her dress was hitched up, and one knee and thigh were embedded in the muddy ground. She looked like something from a circus.
‘We must be careful,’ she said, ‘to see that the stone is tilting from the inside of the car outwards. Then when it takes the weight the car won’t slither any farther towards the river.’
Mor sighed. He could not desert her. He helped her to complete the operation.
‘Now,’ said Mor, ‘the question is, how are we to dig out the stone from under the axle without the whole thing coming down on top of us?’
‘We’ll use the starting-handle,’ said Miss Carter. She was not calm, but intent and fervent. She fetched the starting-handle from the back of the car.
‘Give it to me,’ said Mor. ‘You keep clear, and don’t whatever you do get into the car. When it does rest on three wheels again I’ll try to drive it out.’
Mor got into the Riley for a moment and engaged the hand-brake and the first gear. Then he went behind the car and lay down close to the wheels. He could see the inside back wheel touching the stone which he and Miss Carter had put in place, and the axle resting upon another stone nearer to the river bank. He reached underneath with the starting-handle and began to undermine the stone on which the axle rested, digging hard at its base. Miss Carter came and sat near him, almost invisible in the long grass.
It was easier than Mor had expected to undermine the stone. Perhaps, after all, he thought, this mad plan will work. He felt the stone give slightly and begin to sink. In another moment it would be clear of the axle and the car would be resting upon its three wheels. Mor gave a final dig and drew sharply back.
With a roar of grinding tyres and tearing undergrowth and crumbling stones the Riley lurched over madly towards the river. Mor saw it rise above him like a rearing animal. He rolled precipitately back into the grass and came into violent contact with Miss Carter’s knees. They both staggered up.
‘Are you all right?’ she cried.
Mor did not answer. They ran forward to see what had happened to the car. Another large section of the bank had given way, and the car had slid down and was now balanced with one back wheel and one front wheel well over the edge of the bank. Below it the river, foaming and muddy with the recent avalanche, swept on its way carrying off long reeds and tufts of grass and broken blossoms of meadow sweet.
‘Hmmm,’ said Mor. ‘Well, now I think it’s time to go and get the tractor.’
‘It’s too late for the tractor,’ said Miss Carter in a steady voice.
Mor looked. Then he saw that it was indeed too late.
‘It’s going to turn right over into the river,’ said Miss Carter.
They watched. Very very slowly the big car was tilting towards the water. There was a soft gurgling sound as pieces of the river bank descended and were engulfed. Mor took Miss Carter by the arm and drew her back. There was a moment’s pause, during which was audible the steady voice of the stream and the buzz of the surrounding woodland. The car was poised now, its inside wheels well clear of the ground, its outside wheels biting deep into the soft earth half-way down the bank. Then slowly again it began to move. Higher and higher the wheels rose from the ground, as the roof of the car inclined more and more sharply until it stood vertically above the water. Then with a grinding crash of buckling metal and subsiding earth the car fell, turning over as it went, and came to rest upside down with its roof upon the bed of the stream.
The moment immediately after the crash was strangely silent. The woodland hum was heard again, and the murmur of the stream, now slightly modified as the water gurgled in and out of the open windows of the Riley. The stream was very shallow, and the water did not rise above the level of the windows. The reeds were swaying in the warm air and the dragon-flies darting among the sharp green stems. Everything was as before, except for the dark gash of the broken bank and the spectacle of the Riley lying upside down in the middle of the river, its black and sinister lower parts exposed to the declining sun.
‘Oh dear,’ said Miss Carter.
Mor turned to comfort her. He saw that she was starting to cry.
‘My poor Riley,’ said Miss Carter. And she wept without restraint.
Mor looked at her for a moment. Then he put one arm round her and held her in a very strong grip.
In a moment Miss Carter recovered and disengaged herself quickly from Mor’s hold. Mor offered her a handkerchief.
‘Look here,’ he said, ‘all we can do now is go and find a garage with a breakdown unit and let them deal with this scene. In fact the car isn’t badly damaged - it’s just a matter of pulling it out. It’ll need a crane, but it won’t be difficult. I suggest you go home now in the bus, Miss Carter, and leave me to arrange the rest. I’m deeply sorry about this, and
‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ said Miss Carter in a tired voice. ‘I’m not going to leave the car. You go and find the breakdown people. I shall stay here.’
‘I don’t like leaving you alone in the wood,’ said Mor. He thought of the woodcutter.
‘Please go,’ said Miss Carter. ‘I’ll stay here. I’d much rather stay with the car.’ She spoke as if it were a wounded animal.
Mor gave up trying to convince her. It was clear to him that she really wanted him away. He turned back on foot along the grassy bridle path, and as he passed the clearing he saw that the man had gone. He passed through the white gate, and almost at once was able to hail a car which took him to a nearby garage. Less than half an hour later a small lorry mounted with a crane conveyed him once more to the river, ripping the ferns and the branches on either side as it bumped along the track.
Miss Carter was standing knee-deep in the water beside the Riley. When she saw them coming she scrambled out. She came straight up to Mor.
‘Listen, she said, ’please go home now. It wasn’t your fault, this thing. It was all my fault for taking you away. Please go home. Your wife will be very worried.‘
‘I must wait and see that everything is all right,’ said Mor.
Miss Carter put her hand on his arm. ‘Please, please go,’ she said. Please, please, please.‘
At last Mor allowed himself to be persuaded. The breakdown men seemed to think that it would not be difficult to lift the Riley; and Miss Carter seemed intensely anxious for his departure. So in a little while Mor turned away and went back alone to the road. When he came in sight of the ford he saw that there was someone there. It was the man from the clearing, who was standing with the water covering his shoes and lapping round his trouser ends. When he became aware of Mor he moved on a step or two into the deepest part of the ford and stopped again, but without looking round. Mor watched him for a moment. Then he turned and began walking in the other direction along the road. It was not long before he met a car which was able to give him a lift as far as the main road. There he caught a bus.
As the bus conveyed Mor along the noisy road towards the outskirts of the housing estate he felt as if he were emerging from a dream. It was only a few hours ago that he had risen from Evvy’s lunch table. What world had he entered in between? Whatever the region was, Mor thought, in which he had been wandering, one thing was certain, that he would never visit it again. At this reflection he felt a mixture of sadness and relief. He looked at his watch. It was after eight. Nan would indeed be worried. He ought to have telephoned her. But somehow it had not occurred to him, so completely insulated had he been by the strange atmosphere of that other world. He shook himself and looked to see the familiar streets appearing. He got off the bus and began to walk quickly past the rows of semi-detached houses towards his own.
As Mor came to the corner of the road where he lived he suddenly paused. A familiar figure had come out from under the shadow of a tree and was hurrying to meet him. It was Tim Burke.
Tim came up to Mor, took him by the wrist, and turning him about began to lead him quickly back the way he had come.
‘Tim!’ said Mor. ‘Whatever is it? We can’t talk now. Look, I must get home. I’m in an awful fix.’
‘You’re telling me you’re in a fix!’ said Tim. He took Mor’s arm in a wrestling grip and began to urge him back along the road. ‘I had to wait there, I wasn’t sure which way you’d come. I don’t want Nan to see me.’ They turned down another road.
‘What is it, Tim?’ said Mor, freeing his arm. They stopped under a tree.
‘Nan rang me up,’ said Tim.
Mor thought, of course, it hadn’t occurred to him, but naturally Nan would have rung up Tim to ask why he was so late. ‘What did she say,’ said Mor, ‘when you said I hadn’t been with you?’
‘I didn’t say that,’ said Tim.
‘What?’ said Mor.
‘I didn’t say it,’ said Tim. ‘I said you’d been with me most of the afternoon and that just then you’d gone over to the committee rooms and that you’d been delayed and you’d probably be back a bit later.
Mor put his hand to his head. ‘Tim,’ he said, ‘for heaven’s sake, what put it into your mind to invent all that?’
Tim took hold of the hem of Mor’s jacket. ‘I saw you down at the traffic lights at Marsington,’ he said, ‘in a car with a girl.’
Mor leaned against the tree. It was a plane tree with a flaky piebald bark. He pulled a piece of the bark off it. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid your Irish imagination has carrried you away a bit, Tim. That was just Miss Carter, who’s painting Demoyte’s portrait. And in fact I would have been with you this afternoon if it hadn’t been that the car broke down.’
Tim was silent. All this isn’t quite true, thought Mor. Oh God!
‘Tim,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry. You’ve acted very kindly. There’s been a horrible muddle today, all my fault.
‘You’re not angry with me, Mor?’ said Tim. ‘You see, I couldn’t just say you hadn’t been there. I had to do my best. I had to try to think what to do.’ He was still holding on to Mor’s coat.
‘That’s all right, Tim,’ said Mor. ‘You acted very well, in fact. It’s been all my fault. But there won’t be anything like this again. We’d better just bury it quietly and not refer to it any more. I’m deeply sorry to have involved you in this. And thank you for what you did.’ He touched Tim’s shoulder lightly. Tim let go of his coat.
They looked at each other. Tim’s look expressed curiosity, diffidence, and affection. Mor’s look expressed affention, exasperation, and remorse. They began to walk back along the road.
When they got to the corner, Tim said, ‘Have you talked to herself yet about that thing?’
‘No,’ said Mor, ‘I will soon though.’
They stood for a moment.
‘You’re not angry?’ said Tim. ‘I tried to do the best for you.
‘How could I be angry?’ said Mor. ‘It is you who should pardon me. You did very well. And now we’ll not speak of it again. Good night, Tim.’
Mor turned and began to walk slowly along the road that led to his own house.
Chapter Seven
ALREADY the light was leaving the earth and taking refuge in the sky. The big windows of Demoyte’s drawing-room stood open upon the garden. A recurring pattern of bird-song filled the room, not overlaid now by any human voices. In the last light of the evening Rain Carter was painting.
It was the day following the disaster with the Riley. The breakdown men had in fact managed to right the car fairly quickly, and towed it to the garage. The engine was badly jolted and drenched with water, but there was no serious damage to the car except for a certain buckling of the roof. The garage had promised to restore it, almost as good as new, in a short while.
Rain, however, was not thinking now about the Riley. Nor was she thinking about William Mor, although that was a subject which had preoccupied her for a while before she retired to bed the previous evening. She was completely absorbed in what she was doing. Early that morning Rain had found herself able to make a number of important decisions about the picture, and once her plan had become clear she started at once to put it into execution. A white sheet was laid down in the drawing-room on which the easel was placed, together with a kitchen table and a chair. Paints and brushes stood upon the table, and the large canvas had been screwed on the easel. Enthroned opposite, beside one of the windows, sat Demoyte, his shoulder touching one of the rugs which hung behind him upon the wall. Through the window was visible a small piece of the garden, some trees, and above the trees in the far distance the tower of the school. In front of Demoyte stood a table spread with books and papers. Demoyte had been sitting there at Rain’s request for a large part of the afternoon and was by this time rather irritable. During much of this period Rain had not been painting but
Demoyte was dressed in a rather frayed corduroy coat and was wearing a bow tie. This particular capitulation had taken place the previous morning after breakfast when Rain had said sharply, Don’t think me eccentric, Mr Demoyte, but these are the clothes I want to paint you in‘ - and had laid the very garments on the chair beside him. Demoyte had made no comment, but had gone at once in quest of Miss Handforth to tell her exactly what he thought of this betrayal. Handy had informed him that needless to say she knew nothing about it and surely he knew her better than to imagine she would give information to that imp or make free with her employer’s clothing. Demoyte had pondered the outrage for a short while, made a mental note to give Mor a rocket when he next saw him, changed into the clothes in question, and felt immensely better and more comfortable.