The silence lengthened. When it began, Guy was restless - his mind, as always, furiously thrusting and parrying, plotting the destruction of opposing hordes but then, as the seconds and then the minutes slid by, all his whirling aggravation became first muted and then displaced. He could still hear his bombastic inner voice but faintly, like the sounds of battle beyond distant hills.
Guy was not usually at ease with silence. He liked what he called ‘a bit of life’, by which he meant a bit of noise. But now the quiet was affecting him strangely. He seemed to be settling into it as into a huge, consoling embrace. He was tempted to let go. To rest safely. A burden seemed to have been lifted from his back and all motion stalled. He felt that he should comment on this extraordinary state of affairs, but the language needed to express such sentiments seemed to be unavailable, so he continued to sit. There seemed to be no hurry for anything and he no longer felt uncomfortable.
The room was filled with light from the setting sun and the strip of silk caught fire. As Guy stared at it, the zinging colours developed in intensity - glowing to such an extent that they seemed almost to be alive and pulsing with energy. He found it impossible to take his eyes off this luminous transformation and began to wonder if he was being hypnotised. And then the other man spoke.
‘I’m so glad that you could come and visit us.’
Guy collected himself, attempted to ball up the soft spread of his attention. It wasn’t easy. ‘The gratitude is mine. For your kindness to my daughter.’
‘She’s a delightful girl. We are all extremely fond of Suhami.’
‘I was very worried when she disappeared.’ Rule One. Never acknowledge a weakness. ‘Not that we were close.’ Rule Two. Or admit failure.
What was wrong with him? This was the adversary. The father figure that Sylvie thought the world of. Guy struggled to reactivate his previous sensations of jealousy and revenge. Without them he felt naked. He stared into the brilliant blue eyes and calm expressionless face. The flesh had fallen in at the side of the nose. It was sharp and pointed, an old man’s nose. Hold fast to that. He’s decrepit. One foot in the grave. But what about that jaw? A soldier’s jaw. A soldier’s jaw in a monk’s face. What was being signalled here? Guy felt completely at a loss.
‘Even in the closest of families young people must break away. It is always painful.’
There was something about Craigie’s presence, perhaps the deep concentration of his attention, that demanded a response. Guy said, ‘Pain is putting it mildly.’
‘These rifts can be healed.’
‘D’you think so? Do you really think that’s possible?’
Guy leaned forwards, hands clasped. And started to talk. Streams of resentful reminiscence poured from his lips. Torrents of remorse. Floods of self-justification. On and on it went, seemingly without end. Guy heard it all with feelings of incredulous disgust. Such loathsome black fecundity. And yet - the ease with which it flowed! As if it had been waiting all these years in a pounce posture on the back of his tongue.
When finally it was over he was exhausted. He looked across at Craigie who was looking down at his hands. Guy tried to read the other man’s expression which struck him as one of concerned detachment, but this could surely not be the case. You could be one or the other but not both. And certainly not both at once. Guy sat for several moments more until the longing to evoke some sort of response became too much for him. He struggled to gather his wits then added a vindicative coda.
‘I gave her everything.’
Ian Craigie nodded sympathetically. ‘That’s understandable. But of course it doesn’t work.’
‘Can’t buy love you mean? That’s for sure. Otherwise there’d be no lonely millionaires.’
‘My point is that ultimately things cannot satisfy, Mr Gamelin. They have no life you see.’
‘Ah.’ Guy did not see. Surely things, acquisitions to display and use, were what it was all about. How else did people know what sort of man you were? And surely on the most basic level one needed a house, food, warmth and clothing. He said as much.
‘Of course this is true. But there is a fourth great need which we ignore at our peril. And that’s the need for intoxication.’ He smiled, correctly interpreting Guy’s translation of the word. ‘I refer to emotional and spiritual intoxication. We see it at the games sometimes. Hear it in music ...’
‘I understand that.’ Guy recalled the crowding glass canyons of the city. The dramatic rites of passage. Smoke-filled boardrooms; daggers noiselessly drawn. That was bloody intoxicating if you like. ‘But I don’t see how, here ...’ He gave an all-inclusive wave.
‘Here we are in love with prayer. And the pursuit of goodness.’
A disturbing hint of irony. Guy disliked irony, seeing it as a weapon needed only by the smart-arsed weakling. ‘You sound as if you don’t take it seriously.’
‘I take the quest very seriously. But people, no. At least only rarely.’
Guy felt suddenly cold as if a source of comfort had been capriciously withdrawn. Had the warmth, then, the understanding that he was pouring out his sorrow to an empathetic and receptive intelligence been no more than an illusion? Guy felt aggrieved. Cheated even. ‘The pursuit of goodness? I don’t quite understand.’
‘No. Abstract nouns are always difficult. And dangerous. I suppose the plainest way to put it is that once the idea that such a thing truly exists ... that it is perhaps available and we can experience it - once that idea has pricked you, it never afterwards leaves you quite alone.’
Guy thought of his all-consuming love and understood completely.
‘We spend most of our time here falling by the wayside of course, like everyone else.’
‘And is this ... pursuit what Sylvie wants, do you think?’
‘She believes so at the moment. Her meditations have brought her a measure of content. But she is very young. We try on many masks throughout our lives. Eventually we find one that fits so well we never take it off.’
‘I’ve never worn a mask.’
‘You think not?’ There was a rap on the door. He called out: ‘A few minutes May,’ and turned back to Guy. ‘We haven’t even touched on the problem of your daughter’s inheritance, which was one of the principal reasons that I asked you down.’
‘The McFadden bequest? Not with you, Craigie.’
‘She wants to give it all to the community.’
Guy gave a strangled groan and the Master leaned forward anxiously. ‘Are you all right Mr Gamelin?’
Guy lifted his face. It was stamped with an expression of stupefied dismay. His jaws gaped. The Master surveyed this pitiable spectacle then smiled, but without parting his lips. These were firmly clamped together. After a few moments he spoke again.
‘Please don’t distress yourself. The money will not be accepted. At least not at the moment. Your daughter is overly grateful for our affection, as children are who have not known love. Also the bequest reminds her of past unhappiness which is why she is determined to offload it, if not on us, elsewhere.’ Guy became pale, even his port-wine nose blanched.
‘This vulnerability is what I hoped to talk about with you. I wondered if some procedure could not be opened whereby I can appear to accept it but actually make some arrangements for it to be securely held, perhaps for at least another year. She may of course still wish to dispose of it but my experience,’ the irony was plainer now, ‘leads me to the belief that she will not.’