Free The Black Prince (Penguin Classics) by Iris Murdoch

don’t usually discuss my work, I mean Rachel thinks it’s fine, there’s nothing to discuss. Only sometimes if she’s not feeling very well or something she picks on a thing in a book and says it refers to her, or that it’s a picture of something we did or found or something together. Well, you know I don’t draw from life like that, all my stuff is imagined, only Rachel suddenly thinks she spots something which she says is hurtful or spoiling or insulting or something, it’s like a sudden persecution complex, it upsets her terribly. Most of one’s friends are dying to be in one’s books, they see themselves everywhere, but Rachel hates it if I even mention somewhere we’ve been together, she says it spoils it and so on. Anyway, oh Christ, Bradley, what a bloody fool I am – Anyway this started up with this sort of tiff and then she said something hurtful about my writing in general, she said, well never mind – Anyway we started rowing and I suppose I said some pretty critical things about her, just to defend myself, and we’d been drinking brandy after lunch – We don’t usually drink much, but when we started to fight we just went on and on drinking, it was crazy. Then she got terribly angry and lost control and screamed at me, and I hate that. I sort of pushed her to stop her screaming and she clawed my face, see, she made quite a mark on me, God, it still hurts. I felt quite frightened and I just hit her to make her stop. I can’t stand screaming and noise and anger, and they are frightening. She was yelling like a fury and saying awful things about my work and I just hit her with my hand to stop the hysterics, but she went on coming at me and coming at me, and then I picked up the poker from the fireplace just to hold it between us as a barrier, and just at that moment she jerked her head, she was dancing round me like a wild animal, and she jerked her head down and met the poker with a most ghastly crack – oh God – Of course I didn’t mean to hit her, I mean I didn’t hit her — And then she went down on the floor and she was so bloody quiet lying there with her eyes closed, I wasn’t sure she hadn’t stopped breathing – Well, I was in a complete panic and I got a jug of water and poured it over her and she just lay there and I was frantic – And then when I went to get some more water she jumped up and ran upstairs to the bedroom and locked herself in – Then she wouldn’t open, wouldn’t answer – I didn’t know if she was shamming and it was spite or if she was really ill or what, so you see I didn’t know what to do – Oh Christ, I didn’t mean to hit her—’
    There were sounds upstairs, the unlocking of a door, and we both jumped up. Francis, leaning down, said, ‘She’s OK.’ His shabby blue suit was covered with dampish reddish silky siftings, which in a moment I recognized as Rachel’s hair, which he must have clipped in order to examine her head. I saw his extremely dirty hand grasping the white banister.
    ‘Thank God,’ said Arnold. ‘Do you know, I think she may have been shamming all the time. Anyway, thank God. What should – ?’
    ‘There’s nothing seriously wrong. She’s got a very nasty lump on her head and she’s a bit in shock. Could be a touch of concussion. Keep her in bed and keep the room dark. Aspirins, any of her usual sedatives, hot water bottles, hot drinks, I mean tea and that. Better let her see her own doctor. She’ll soon be herself again.’
    ‘Oh thank you so much, Doctor,’ said Arnold. ‘So she’s all right, thank heaven.’
    ‘She wants to see you,’ said Francis to me. We had all moved back up to the landing.
    Arnold began again calling, ‘My darling, please—’
    ‘I’ll deal,’ I said. I half opened the bedroom door, which was unlocked.
    ‘Only Bradley. Only Bradley.’ The voice, still almost inaudible, was firmer.
    ‘Oh Christ. This is awful. I’ve had enough—’ said Arnold. ‘Darling – ’
    ‘You go down