Read Online The Time of the Angels by Iris Murdoch - Free Book Online
Authors: Iris Murdoch
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someone who always wanted to hide. With its high ceiling and plain concrete walls the room seemed heavy, as if it were sinking into the earth, and it was indeed a little below ground level. A long narrow window had been opened the whole length of one wall, up near the top, uncurtained and now full of foggy darkness. Below in the well of the room was Eugene’s double bunk, his table with the furry green cloth with its deep fringe, an armchair of modern design, a wooden chair, and a yellow porcelain stand, waisted and bosomed like a girl, upon which stood a potted plant. Eugene did not know what kind of plant it was, although it had been with him for many years. It had long drooping branches and very glossy heart-shaped leaves some of which very occasionally became brown and dry and fell off. It disliked both water and light. Eugene loved it dearly, and together with the icon it constituted his property. The rest of the stuff just happened to be there.
Eugene adjusted the electric fire so that its heat should shine on to Pattie. The fire was just for cosiness, since the room was already quite warm because of the proximity of the boiler. Pattie was fingering her cup timidly, stirring the tea for the fourth time. On the table on the furry green cloth was a plate of hot buttered toast, whose buttery brown smell pervaded the room, and a plate of cakes with decorated sugary outsides and soft spongy insides. Pattie had taken one of these on to her own plate beside her on the bed, but seemed too shy to eat it. Eugene contemplated her.
He had seen plenty of West Indian girls on buses and on the underground but he had never studied one close to or for long. He liked the flatness and width of her face which reminded him of a Russian face. Her ample figure too reminded him of his home. She was as a woman ought to be, large-bosomed, monumental. Her hips curved in a hesitant and then in a huge confident parabola and there was plenty behind. Her breasts, revealed now by a rather tight pink jersey, were big and perfectly round, two great firm spheres let into her body. She sat, her legs a little apart, showing a line of slightly tattered petticoat where her shirt was stretched over her knees. He liked the rather untidy, tousled, unkempt femininity of her and the way her shoes were always falling off. He wished she would smile at him more, he liked that sudden display of magnificent white teeth. She was much given to looking at him and the gravity of her eyes disturbed him. He was disturbed by her very dark eyes with the spots of fiery red at their points, and by the curiously straight dusky hair which floated about her head as if it were not really attached but simply followed by a kind of magnetism.
“Is it always dark like this here at this time of year?”
“The fog? Yes, it’s often foggy, though usually not for so long. It’ll let up soon.”
“It rather frightens me. And the trains make such a strange noise underneath.”
“You’ll soon stop hearing the trains. I never hear them at all, I’ve got so used to them. You’ll feel better when you’ve found your own way to the shops.” Eugene was getting a little tired of doing the shopping for the entire household.
“I’ll come with you tomorrow.”
“Do eat your cake. It’s feeling sad because you haven’t eaten it.”
The wonderful white smile, and then the teeth close a little shyly still over a very small morsel of cake.
“I expect you’ll be busy soon. Parties and dinners and things. Once you’ve settled in.”
“Oh no. The Rector never entertains.”
Eugene was not sure if he was glad or sorry. He had debated with himself whether, if he were asked to act as butler, he would say yes or no. He had been a butler in his time. At least he had acted the part of a butler with some success. All who saw him had taken him for a butler and even a good one. Eugene had not felt demeaned by this masquerade. He had also,
Eugene adjusted the electric fire so that its heat should shine on to Pattie. The fire was just for cosiness, since the room was already quite warm because of the proximity of the boiler. Pattie was fingering her cup timidly, stirring the tea for the fourth time. On the table on the furry green cloth was a plate of hot buttered toast, whose buttery brown smell pervaded the room, and a plate of cakes with decorated sugary outsides and soft spongy insides. Pattie had taken one of these on to her own plate beside her on the bed, but seemed too shy to eat it. Eugene contemplated her.
He had seen plenty of West Indian girls on buses and on the underground but he had never studied one close to or for long. He liked the flatness and width of her face which reminded him of a Russian face. Her ample figure too reminded him of his home. She was as a woman ought to be, large-bosomed, monumental. Her hips curved in a hesitant and then in a huge confident parabola and there was plenty behind. Her breasts, revealed now by a rather tight pink jersey, were big and perfectly round, two great firm spheres let into her body. She sat, her legs a little apart, showing a line of slightly tattered petticoat where her shirt was stretched over her knees. He liked the rather untidy, tousled, unkempt femininity of her and the way her shoes were always falling off. He wished she would smile at him more, he liked that sudden display of magnificent white teeth. She was much given to looking at him and the gravity of her eyes disturbed him. He was disturbed by her very dark eyes with the spots of fiery red at their points, and by the curiously straight dusky hair which floated about her head as if it were not really attached but simply followed by a kind of magnetism.
“Is it always dark like this here at this time of year?”
“The fog? Yes, it’s often foggy, though usually not for so long. It’ll let up soon.”
“It rather frightens me. And the trains make such a strange noise underneath.”
“You’ll soon stop hearing the trains. I never hear them at all, I’ve got so used to them. You’ll feel better when you’ve found your own way to the shops.” Eugene was getting a little tired of doing the shopping for the entire household.
“I’ll come with you tomorrow.”
“Do eat your cake. It’s feeling sad because you haven’t eaten it.”
The wonderful white smile, and then the teeth close a little shyly still over a very small morsel of cake.
“I expect you’ll be busy soon. Parties and dinners and things. Once you’ve settled in.”
“Oh no. The Rector never entertains.”
Eugene was not sure if he was glad or sorry. He had debated with himself whether, if he were asked to act as butler, he would say yes or no. He had been a butler in his time. At least he had acted the part of a butler with some success. All who saw him had taken him for a butler and even a good one. Eugene had not felt demeaned by this masquerade. He had also,
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