The Magus

“December came. The 'flappers’ and the 'nuts’ had disappeared. My father told me one evening that neither he nor my mother would think the worse of me if I did not go. I had started at the Royal College of Music, and the atmosphere there was at first hostile to volunteering. The war had nothing to do with art or artists. I remember my parents and Lily’s discussing the war. They agreed it was inhuman. But my father’s conversation with me became strained. He became a special constable, a member of the local emergency committee. Then the son of his head clerk was killed in action. He told us that one silent di

“They are mad, I said to Lily. She did not seem to hear me. But when they had gone she turned and said, If I was going to die tomorrow I should be mad. It stu

He paused, then half sung it:

We shall miss you, we shall kiss you,

But we think you ought to go.

“I felt like a small boy beside her. Once again I blamed my miserable Greek blood. It had made me a coward as well as a lecher. I see, when I look back, that indeed it had. Because I was less a true coward, a calculating coward, than someone so i

“When we reached our houses, Lily kissed my cheek and ran in. I understood. She could not apologize, but she could still pity. I spent a night and a day and a second night in agony. The next day I saw Lily and told her I was going to volunteer. All the blood left her cheeks. Then she burst into tears and threw herself into my arms. So did my mother when I told her. But hers was a purer grief.

“I was passed fit, accepted. I was a hero. Lily’s father presented me with an old pistol he had. My father opened champagne. And then when I got to my room, and sat on my bed with the pistol in my hands, I cried. Not from fear—for the sheer nobility of what I was doing. I had never felt public-spirited before. And I also thought that I had conquered that Greek half of me. I was fully English at last.

“I was pushed into the 13th London Rifles—Princess Louise’s Kensington Regiment. There I became two people—one who watched and one who tried to forget that the other watched. We were trained less to kill than to be killed. Taught to advance at two-pace intervals—against guns that fired two hundred and fifty bullets a minute. The Germans and the French did the same. No doubt we should have objected if we had ever seriously thought about action. But the current myth at that time maintained that the volunteers were to be used only for guard and communication duties. The regulars and reservists were the fighting troops. Besides, every week we were told that because of its enormous cost the war could not last another month.”

I heard him move in his chair. In the silence that followed I waited for him to continue. But he said nothing. The stars shimmered in their dustless glittering clouds; the terrace was like a stage beneath them.

“A glass of brandy?”

“I hope you’re not going to stop.”

“Let us have some brandy.”

He stood up and lit the candle. Then he disappeared.

I lay in my chair and stared up at the stars. 1914 and 1953 were eons apart; 1914 was on a planet circling one of the furthest faintest stars. The vast stretch, the pace of time.

Then they came again, those footsteps. This time, they approached. It was the same rapid walk. But it was much too warm for rapid walking. Someone wanted to reach the house urgently, and without being seen. I got quickly to the parapet.

I was just in time to glimpse a pale shape at the far end of the house move up the steps and under the colo

There was a sound from the bedroom and Conchis appeared in the lamplit doorway, carrying a tray with a bottle and two glasses. I waited till he had set it by the candle.

“You know someone has just come in downstairs.”

He betrayed not the least surprise. He uncorked the bottle and carefully poured the brandy. “A man or a woman?”

“A woman.”

“Ah.” He handed me my brandy. “This is made at the monastery of Arkadion in Crete.” He snuffed the candle and went back to his chair. I remained standing.

“You did say you lived alone.”

“I said that I liked to give the islanders the impression that I lived alone.”

The dryness in his voice made me feel that I was being very naïve. The woman was simply his mistress, whom for some reason he did not want me to meet; or perhaps who did not want to meet me. I went and sat down on the lounging chair.

“I’m being tactless. Forgive me.”

“Not tactless. Perhaps a little lacking in imagination.”

“I thought perhaps I was meant to notice what obviously I’m not meant to notice.”

“Noticing is not a matter of choice, Nicholas. But explaining is.”

“Of course.”

“Patience.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Do you like the brandy?”

“Very much.”

“It always reminds me of Armagnac. Now. Shall I continue?”

As he began to speak again I smelt the night air, I felt the hard concrete under my feet, I touched a piece of chalk in my pocket. But a strong feeling persisted, when I swung my feet off the ground and lay back, that something was trying to slip between me and reality.

19

“I found myself in France a little more than six weeks after I enlisted. I had no aptitude with the rifle. I could not even bayonet an effigy of Kaiser Bill convincingly. But I was considered ’sharp' and they also discovered that I could run quite fast. So I was selected as company ru

“My training company commander was a Regular Army officer of thirty or so. His name was Captain Montague. He had broken his leg sometime before and so had been unfit for active service till then. A kind of phosphorescent pale elegance about his face. A delicate, gallant moustache. He was one of the most supremely stupid men I have ever met. He taught me a great deal.

“Before our training was finished, he received an urgent posting to France. That same day he told me, as if he were giving me a magnificent present, that he thought he could pull strings and have me posted with him. Only a man as blank as he would have failed to see the hollowness of my enthusiasm. But unfortunately he had grown fond of me.

“He had a brain capable of only one idea at a time. With him it was the offensive a outrance—the headlong attack. Foch’s great contribution to the human race. 'The force of the shock is the mass,' he used to say—'the force of the mass is the impulsion and the force of the impulsion is the morale. High morale, high impulsion, high shock—victory!' Thump on the table—'Victory!' He made us all learn it by heart. At bayonet drill. Vic-tor-ree! Poor fool.