Arthur & George

end of the contact, one of the lads told how the other brother’s arm had been torn off by a fish. The medium asked if it had been a shark, and the boy replied that it was not like any shark he had ever seen. Now, all this was written down at the time and some of it published in the newspapers. Mark the sequel. Some weeks later a large shark of a rare deep-sea species, one unfamiliar to the fishermen who caught it, and quite unknown in the waters off Melbourne, was taken some thirty miles away. Inside it was the bone of a human arm. Also, a watch, some coins, and other articles which belonged to the boy.’ He paused. ‘Now, Connie, what do you make of that?’
    Connie reflects for a while. What she makes of it is that her brother is confusing religion with his love of fixing things. He sees a problem – death – and he looks for a way of solving it: such is his nature. She also thinks Arthur’s spiritualism is connected, though quite how she cannot work out, with his love of chivalry and romance and the belief in a golden age. But she confines her objections to a narrower basis.
    ‘What I make of it, my dear brother, is that it is a wonderful story, and you are a wonderful storyteller, as we all know. I also think that I was not in Melbourne twenty years ago, and neither were you.’
    Arthur does not mind being rebuffed. ‘Connie, you are a great rationalist, and that is the first step towards becoming a spiritist.’
    ‘I doubt you will convert me, Arthur.’ It seems to Connie that he has just told her a revised version of Jonah and the Whale – though one in which the victims were less fortunate – but that to base any beliefs upon such a story would be as much an act of faith as it was for those who first heard the story of Jonah. At least the Bible is proposing a metaphor. Arthur, because he dislikes metaphor, sees a parable and chooses to take it literally. As if the parable of the Wheat and the Tares were mere horticultural advice.
    ‘Connie, what if someone you knew and loved were to die. And afterwards that person made contact with you, spoke to you, told you something only you knew, some chance intimate detail which could not have been discovered through anyone’s trickery?’
    ‘Arthur, I think that is another bridge I shall cross if ever I come to it.’
    ‘Connie, you English Connie. Wait and see, wait and see what turns up. Not for me. I’m all for action now.’
    ‘You always have been, Arthur.’
    ‘We shall be laughed at. It is a great cause, but it will not be a fair fight. You must expect to see your brother laughed at. Still, always remember: one case is all we need. One case and the whole thing is proven. Proven beyond all reasonable doubt. Proven beyond all scientific refutation. Think of that, Connie.’
    ‘Arthur, your tea is now quite cold.’
    And so, gradually, the years accrue. It is ten years since Touie fell ill, six since he met Jean. It is eleven years since Touie fell ill, seven since he met Jean. It is twelve years since Touie fell ill, eight since he met Jean. Touie remains cheerful, free of pain, and ignorant, he is sure, of the gentle conspiracy surrounding her. Jean remains in her flat, practises her voice, rides to hounds, makes chaperoned visits to Undershaw and unchaperoned ones to Masongill; she never swerves from insisting that what she has is enough because it is all her heart desires, and she leaves one safe child-bearing year behind her after another. The Mam remains his rock, his confessor, his reassurance. Nothing moves. Perhaps nothing ever will move, until one day the strain attacks his heart and he simply explodes and expires. There is no way out, that is the beastliness of his position; or rather, each beckoning exit is marked Misery. In
Lasker’s Chess Magazine
he reads of a position called
Zugzwang
, in which the player is unable to move any piece in any direction to any square without making his already imperilled state worse. This is what Arthur’s life feels like.
    Sir Arthur’s life, on the other hand, which is all most people see, is in royal shape. Knight of the realm, friend of the King, champion of the Empire, and Deputy Lieutenant of Surrey. A man constantly in public demand. One year he is asked to judge a Strong Man competition organized by Mr Sandow the bodybuilder at the Albert Hall. He and Lawes the sculptor are the two assessors, with Sandow himself as referee. Eighty competitors display their muscles to a packed hall in