A Fairly Honourable Defeat by Iris Murdoch Page A

leader, Hilda thought, surveying the limp form of her son with tenderness and exasperation. He greeted his mother with a yawn and with an agitation of his fingers, his hands remaining clasped.
    ‘Is Tallis in the house?’ said Hilda.
    ‘Tallis is doubtless somewhere if he is still alive. He is not here.’
    ‘You haven’t any reason to think he’s not still alive, have you?’
    ‘None whatsoever.’
    ‘You got my note?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Peter, the scene in the kitchen is revolting. Why don’t you at least wash up?’
    ‘I’ll think about it.’
    ‘And I think you ought to fix the front door. All you need is a screwdriver. Isn’t there a screwdriver somewhere in the house? I thought I saw one on the dresser.’
    ‘You might have done.’
    ‘And I think you ought to lock that door at night.’
    ‘The people upstairs come in and out at all hours.’
    ‘Why can’t they use latch keys like ordinary Christians?’
    ‘They aren’t Christians they’re Muslims. And they would lose their latch keys and knock us up.’
    Hilda sighed. She sat down rather carefully on the edge of the chair. The seat was a snare. Reflected sunshine lighted up the room revealing its nakedness. Hilda shuddered. A stripped room is a place of fear. Apart from Peter’s iron bedstead and the chair there was little furniture. There was a large cardboard box full of old shoes—not Peter’s—and pieces of rope and what appeared to be leather belts. A dressing table from which the mirror had been unscrewed was littered with objects. The floor was of unstained wooden planks, grainy with dirt, and the whitish walls were scrawled over with spidery cracks and lightly festooned with cobwebs.
    Hilda looked uneasily at the objects on the dressing table. They included two transistor sets, three silk handkerchiefs, obviously new, a camera, a shiny leather box which might have contained cuff links or jewellery, a rather expensive-looking electric torch and an enamelled cigarette lighter. Hilda was about to ask Peter a question about these things when the door flew open.
    A lot of white teeth and a hazy flurry of black hair came round the door.
    ‘Cannayeh berroo yatipout aggen?’
    ‘Sure, you know where it is.’
    The door closed.
    ‘What was that?’ said Hilda.
    ‘A Muslim.’
    ‘What language was he speaking?’
    ‘English.’
    ‘What did he want?’
    ‘He wanted to borrow our teapot.’
    ‘Why doesn’t he buy one of his own? They aren’t expensive.’
    Peter reflected for a moment. ‘I don’t know.’ He closed his eyes.
    ‘Oh Peter, Peter!’ said Hilda. ‘I wish you didn’t live in such a mess. And by the way, where are all those books I brought you from home last time I came? I don’t see them anywhere.’
    ‘I sold them.’
    ‘Peter! Your art books! You used to love them.’
    ‘I’m through with that sort of art. And the money was useful. I gave some to Tallis.’ Peter opened his eyes a little and surveyed his mother.
    ‘There’s no need to give money to Tallis. I pay for this room. And surely you can keep yourself on what your father gives you and what I give you extra?’
    ‘I’m not complaining. In fact I’m grateful.’
    ‘And for heaven’s sake don’t tell anyone, not even Tallis, that I’m giving you that extra money, because I haven’t told your father! He wouldn’t stand for it, and I daresay quite rightly.’
    ‘I have already told Tallis, but Tallis never tells.’
    ‘Oh dear, I wish everything wasn’t becoming so complicated. I’m afraid I’m just no good at being a parent.’
    ‘Don’t start that again, mother, please. We don’t want any tears this time.’
    ‘But what are you going to do? You’ve got to make yourself into a going concern. You’ve got to fit into this society somehow. You can’t spend your life in bed.’
    ‘Sssh, sssh, my darling mother. Give me your hand. That’s right. No, just your hand. Yes, yes, there, there, you know I love you.’
    ‘But, Peter, you’ve got