Henry and Cato by Iris Murdoch

Author:Iris Murdoch [Murdoch, Iris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781453200926
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 1976-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

‘This is the first time we’ve ever got drunk together, Father.’ ‘Dear me,’ said Cato. ‘Is that what we’re doing?’ They were sitting by candle light in Cato’s bedroom. The electricity had been turned off. Soon the bull-dozers would be coming and the street would be demolished. The house, knowing its end was near, was strangely rickety and frail tonight, a kind of swaying cardboard house inside which Cato sat gazing at the boy. The wind was rattling the window panes and the closed doors were shifting and tapping. Cato sat on the bed and Beautiful Joe close to him upon the chair. The big jar of wine which Joe had brought was on the floor. There were two candles, one upon the chest of drawers and one upon the window ledge. The candle flames wavered in the strong draught. Cato had spent a crazy day. It had started with an almost sleepless night. His bed was damp, the house was suddenly very cold. He had dreamt about Mrs Beckett. In the morning he wondered if he ought to go and see her again but decided it would be pointless. He began a letter to Brendan but tore it up. He went out intending to ring up Father Milsom but all the telephone boxes in the area had been vandalized and were out of order. He became extremely hungry and then realized that he had no money left. Hunger at last drove him reluctantly to Father Thomas’s house where he borrowed a pound. Father Thomas had the advantage of being a comparative stranger. However some rumour must have circulated. Father Thomas looked at him with kind and pitying eyes, asked him to stay to lunch, suggested that he should stay the night. Cato fled. He ate some bacon and eggs in a small cafe, then began to feel sick. Walking back to the house the world was suddenly full of signs. Activate Kundalini he saw written upon a wall. And once again, Trouserama. Only now the word was no longer ludicrous but sinister.

He came back and lay down on his damp bed and instantly fell asleep. He dreamt that Father Milsom was opening a door with one hand while with the other he was gripping Cato’s wrist and Cato was struggling to be free. He awoke in the twilight to find Beautiful Joe standing beside his bed, holding the wine jar and looking down at him with a strange intent unsmiling stare.

‘You’re like a jack in the box, Father. Now we see you, now we don’t.’

It was late. They had drunk nearly all the flagon of wine.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Cato. ‘My life is—well you must know by now—in a muddle, in a mess—I don’t know what to do—’

‘You’re a tease, Father, that’s what you are, a tease.’

‘I don’t mean to be,’ said Cato. ‘I want to be sincere. I’d like to talk to you about everything, to tell you everything.’ Am I drunk, he wondered. I can’t be on that amount of wine, can I?

‘Well, tell me then.

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