The Time of the Angels by Iris Murdoch Page B

gasping for breath. There was a strange noise which seemed to come from underneath him. He was probably not inside the Rectory at all, but had fallen into some sewer or underground working where terrible fumes would take his consciousness from him. He managed to get into a sitting position and tried more deliberately to calm himself. He breathed slowly and evenly and as he did so he recognized the strange smell. It was the reassuring smell of coal. He had fallen into the Rectory coal hole.
     
    Greatly relieved, Marcus began to shift himself cautiously about upon the slope of coal. His shoulder was extremely sore from the impact and one leg seemed to be absent. He rubbed his limbs and gradually reassembled his body round about him. The sheer darkness was now beginning to appal him and he fumbled in his pocket for some matches. It had also occurred to him that if this were indeed the coal hole then there must be a way from it into the interior of the Rectory. He struck a match and held it up.
     
    He had seemed to be in an enormous black void as large as an amphitheatre. Now the walls almost crushed him by their closeness and the ceiling descended to touch his head as he sat awkwardly upon the slope of coal. He seemed monstrously large in the little cellar. He saw his black hand trembling in the light and the corner of the wall, banded with triangular cobwebs, all shivering slightly. His hand trembled and the flickering light went out, but he had seen the other door. It was just before him, inches away, set two feet up in the wall. A moment later Marcus was entering the Rectory on his hands and knees.
     
    Here too it was pitch dark. He rose stiffly to his feet and began to grope until he touched a wall. He stood listening, and then began to shuffle forward as quietly as he could, one hand on the wall and the other held out in front of him. His breathing seemed to be making a great deal of noise in the expectant stillness of the dark. His forward hand touched something, recoiled, and touched again. He felt the panel of a door, drew his fingers down it until he found the handle, and very slowly opened the door into another black space. He moved a step or two and began to search for his matches again. Then he heard voices suddenly quite near to him.
     
    A voice he recognized as Pattie’s said, “It’s no use phoning the Electricity Board again.”
     
    Another voice, he thought it must be Muriel’s, said, “Why not? You didn’t make enough fuss the last time.”
     
    “You telephone then! It isn’t just us. The whole area’s blacked out. It’s no use making a fuss.”
     
    “Why the hell you didn’t have enough ordinary common sense to buy some candles—”
     
    “All right, all right.”
     
    “Pattie,” Marcus said, or rather tried to say. His voice quavered so much that all he produced was a little raucous cry. At the same moment he struck a match and immediately dropped it. The match went out.
     
    There was silence in the space in front of him. Then Pattie’s voice in an alarmed whisper said, “There’s someone there.”
     
    “Well, we’ll soon find out who it is.”
     
    A match flared a little distance away. Marcus gestured towards the light. He wanted to be known.
     
    “Ooh! It’s a black man. He’s waving his arms.”
     
    “Don’t be a fool, Pattie. My God, it’s Uncle Marcus.”
     
    As the match went out Marcus dimly saw figures near to him. He took a step forward. A new voice murmured, footsteps receded. Then there was a rustling of heavy stuff and something displaced the darkness beside him. A hand brushed against him, sought his sleeve, and closed firmly over his wrist.
     
    “Marcus.”
     
    “Carel.”
     
    It was like the apprehension of a criminal, but Marcus submitted to it with the most profound relief. Guilt and fear passed away from him completely.
     
    “Come upstairs, Marcus. You find us in a strange moment.”
     
    The hand tugged his wrist and Marcus followed, stumbled