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Authors: Iris Murdoch
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was far from immaculate. The pale, waxy, greasy face was very dark about the nostils and smeared with blood and dirt about the chin. A downy moustache covered the deeply indented upper lip and long fine hairs drooped at the corners of the full painted mouth. Her hands, busy now at the neck of her nightgown, had long chipped nails, patchy with old varnish, and I saw she was wearing a number of what appeared to be diamond rings. The metallic hair fell wantonly forward to veil the big crudely outlined exotic eyes. I found her extremely attractive. I was filled with a repulsive excitement and shame and glanced down at Otto. He slept, his open mouth like a wet, red, sea anemone.
‘You are Edmund from the south. Will you have some whisky?’
‘No, thank you.’
She picked up the bottle from Otto’s shoe and tilted it to her lips, closing her eyes. ‘You know my brother David. Do you like my brother? We are Russian Jews.’
‘Yes, I like him. Where do you come from in England?’
‘We are not of England. We are of Leningrad.’
This surprised me a little. I had seemed to gather from Isabel that the Levkins were only of distant Russian extraction. ‘Have you been over here long?’
‘Since six years.’
‘Why did you leave Russia?’
‘It was my father. We were young then, My mother is since long dead. My father was a piano player, he is very grand, very much known, but he cannot like Russia because it is not good for the Jews. He laughed at the Synagogue, but in his heart not. In his heart he is always very sad. Then one day he took us through a big dark forest and we walk and walk and then there are such big wooden towers and bright lights and we run and run and they are shooting at us –’
‘But you all got through –’
‘My father was hit in the hand with a bullet so that he cannot any more play the piano ever.’
‘Ah – I’m sorry – Where is he now?’
‘He is not anywhere. He is dead of what they say is a broken heart. So after that we are wandering people. You see these rings? Before my father die he give to us these diamonds so that we are not poor in whatever country we are. They are of very much value but we do not sell them because they are remembering of him.’
She spoke in a casual sing-song voice as if she had told the story in just those words many times before. She had lifted her hand now and was flashing the diamonds about in the light. She seemed less a victim than a little lost princess telling an ancestral legend in a strange court. Yet I pictured the scene at the frontier, the terrified fleeing children, the father’s wounded hand. It was no legend but a tale of today, an everyday, everyman tale. I began to tell her, to tell them all, that I was sorry.
But now for the second time I saw that she had fled. She had drawn her knees up and thrust them into the crook of Otto’s knees and fallen down beside him. Perhaps the memories had been too much. She closed her eyes and seemed to go instantly to sleep. Otto moved slumbrously at her contact and for a moment the two bodies quivered and shifted in sympathy before settling down conjoined, her head against his neck, her knees within his knees, her hand in his hand. They looked unbearably, cosily conjugal. I stared at them for a while, Adam and Eve, the circle out of which sprang all our woes. I stared at them until they became a mere pattern of lines, a hieroglyph. I covered them with a rug.
7. Two Kinds of Jew
‘So you have discovered the love birds!’
David Levkin was standing at the door. As I moved hastily away from the bed he passed me and pulled the curtains wide apart. It was bright daylight and a sunny morning.
My one thought was to get out of the summer-house as quickly as possible. I shot out of the bedroom door, practically leapt the stairs, and came out into the cool wood where the sun was streaking the birch trunks with a pure and scarcely spotted white. I felt I had waked from a bad dream. I took a few paces
‘You are Edmund from the south. Will you have some whisky?’
‘No, thank you.’
She picked up the bottle from Otto’s shoe and tilted it to her lips, closing her eyes. ‘You know my brother David. Do you like my brother? We are Russian Jews.’
‘Yes, I like him. Where do you come from in England?’
‘We are not of England. We are of Leningrad.’
This surprised me a little. I had seemed to gather from Isabel that the Levkins were only of distant Russian extraction. ‘Have you been over here long?’
‘Since six years.’
‘Why did you leave Russia?’
‘It was my father. We were young then, My mother is since long dead. My father was a piano player, he is very grand, very much known, but he cannot like Russia because it is not good for the Jews. He laughed at the Synagogue, but in his heart not. In his heart he is always very sad. Then one day he took us through a big dark forest and we walk and walk and then there are such big wooden towers and bright lights and we run and run and they are shooting at us –’
‘But you all got through –’
‘My father was hit in the hand with a bullet so that he cannot any more play the piano ever.’
‘Ah – I’m sorry – Where is he now?’
‘He is not anywhere. He is dead of what they say is a broken heart. So after that we are wandering people. You see these rings? Before my father die he give to us these diamonds so that we are not poor in whatever country we are. They are of very much value but we do not sell them because they are remembering of him.’
She spoke in a casual sing-song voice as if she had told the story in just those words many times before. She had lifted her hand now and was flashing the diamonds about in the light. She seemed less a victim than a little lost princess telling an ancestral legend in a strange court. Yet I pictured the scene at the frontier, the terrified fleeing children, the father’s wounded hand. It was no legend but a tale of today, an everyday, everyman tale. I began to tell her, to tell them all, that I was sorry.
But now for the second time I saw that she had fled. She had drawn her knees up and thrust them into the crook of Otto’s knees and fallen down beside him. Perhaps the memories had been too much. She closed her eyes and seemed to go instantly to sleep. Otto moved slumbrously at her contact and for a moment the two bodies quivered and shifted in sympathy before settling down conjoined, her head against his neck, her knees within his knees, her hand in his hand. They looked unbearably, cosily conjugal. I stared at them for a while, Adam and Eve, the circle out of which sprang all our woes. I stared at them until they became a mere pattern of lines, a hieroglyph. I covered them with a rug.
7. Two Kinds of Jew
‘So you have discovered the love birds!’
David Levkin was standing at the door. As I moved hastily away from the bed he passed me and pulled the curtains wide apart. It was bright daylight and a sunny morning.
My one thought was to get out of the summer-house as quickly as possible. I shot out of the bedroom door, practically leapt the stairs, and came out into the cool wood where the sun was streaking the birch trunks with a pure and scarcely spotted white. I felt I had waked from a bad dream. I took a few paces
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