Under the Net

by Iris Murdoch

Subtle people, like myself, can see too much ever to give a straight answer.

I count Finn as an inhabitant of my universe, and cannot conceive that he has one containing me; and this arrangement seems restful for both of us.

A strange light, cast back over our friendship, brought new things into relief, and I tried in an instant to grasp the whole essence of my need of her. I took a deep breath, however, and followed my rule of never speaking frankly to women in moments of emotion. No good ever comes of this. It is not in my nature to make myself responsible for other people. I find it hard enough to pick my own way along.

was still in some pain from the name that Finn had uttered. But in the midst of the pain a queer melody had been set going; a little flute that piped me to be away. It was not of course that I had the slightest intention of looking for Anna, but I wanted to be alone with the thought of her.

Dave once said to me that to find a person inexhaustible is simply the definition of love, so perhaps I loved Anna. She has a husky-speaking voice and a tenderly moulded face which is constantly lit by a warm intent glow from within.

My fates are such that as soon as I interest myself in a thing a hundred accidents happen which are precisely relevant to that thing.

‘Oh, love, love!’ said Anna. ‘How tired I am of that word. What has love ever meant to me but creaking stairs in other people’s houses? What use has all this love ever been that men forced on me? Love is persecution. All I want is to be left alone to do some loving on my own account.’

From that moment on Hugo and I fell into a conversation the like of which I have never known. We rapidly told each other the complete story of our lives, wherein I at least achieved an unprecedented frankness. We then went on to exchange our views on art, politics, literature, religion, history, science, society, and sex.

All theorizing is flight. We must be ruled by the situation itself and this is unutterably particular. Indeed it is something to which we can never get close enough, however hard we may try as it were to crawl under the net.

‘My diary will tell us,’ said Lefty. We crowded round while he struck a match. High tide at London Bridge was at two fifty-eight. It was perfect. A moment later we were climbing the wall. ‘Watch out for police,’ said Lefty. ‘They’ll think we’re going to rob a warehouse. If you see one, pretend to be drunk.’ This was rather superfluous advice. Across a moonswept open space we followed what used to be Fyefoot Lane, where many a melancholy notice board tells in the ruins of the City where churches and where public houses once stood.

have an effortless crawl which I can keep up indefinitely. Swimming has natural affinities with Judo. Both arts depend upon one’s willingness to surrender a rigid and nervous attachment to the upright position. Both bring muscles into play throughout the whole body. Both demand, over an exceptionally wide area of bodily activity, the elimination of superfluous motion. Both resemble the dynamism of water which runs through many channels to find its own level. In fact, however, once one has learnt to control one’s body and overcome the primeval fear of falling which is so deep in the human consciousness, there are few physical arts and graces which are not thereby laid open to one, or at any rate made much easier of access.

What happened after that I’m not very sure. The rest of the night appears in patches through the haze that hangs over it in my memory.

Nothing was further from my mind just then than Sadie and Sammy. I was just pleased to have got Mars after having worked so hard to get him. Our heads held high, we went together into the Devonshire Arms at Hammersmith Broadway.