帷幕17

Chapter 11

It was, I think, on the following morning before lunch that a conversationtook place which left me vaguely disquieted.

There were four of us – Judith, myself, Boyd Carrington and Norton.

Exactly how the subject started, I am not sure, but we were talking ofeuthanasia – the case for and against it.

Boyd Carrington, as was natural, did most of the talking, Norton puttingin a word or two here and there and Judith sitting silent but closely attent-ive.

I myself had confessed that though there seemed, on the face of it, everyreason to support the practice, yet in actuality I felt a sentimental shrink-ing from it. Besides, I said, I thought it would put too much power in thehands of relatives.

Norton agreed with me. He added that he thought it should only be doneby the wish and consent of the patient himself where death after pro-longed suffering was certain.

Boyd Carrington said: ‘Ah, but that’s the curious thing. Does the personmost concerned ever wish to “put himself out of his misery”, as we say?’

He then told a story which he said was authentic, of a man in terriblepain from inoperable cancer. This man had begged the doctor in attend-ance to ‘give him something that would finish it all’. The doctor hadreplied: ‘I can’t do that, old man.’ Later, on leaving, he had placed by thepatient some morphia tablets, telling him carefully how many he couldsafely take and what dose would be dangerous. Although these were leftin the patient’s charge and he could easily have taken a fatal quantity, hedid not do so. ‘Thus proving,’ said Boyd Carrington, ‘that, in spite of hiswords, the man preferred his suffering to a swift and merciful release.’

It was then that Judith spoke for the first time, spoke with vigour andabruptly. ‘Of course he would,’ she said. ‘It shouldn’t have been left to himto decide.’

Boyd Carrington asked what she meant.

‘I mean that anyone who’s weak – in pain and ill – hasn’t got thestrength to make a decision – they can’t. It must be done for them. It’s theduty of someone who loves them to take the decision.’

‘Duty?’ I queried abruptly.

Judith turned on me. ‘Yes, duty. Someone whose mind is clear and whowill take the responsibility.’

Boyd Carrington shook his head. ‘And end up in the dock charged withmurder?’

‘Not necessarily. Anyway, if you love someone, you would take the risk.’

‘But look here, Judith,’ said Norton, ‘what you’re suggesting is simply aterrific responsibility to take.’

‘I don’t think it is. People are too afraid of responsibility. They’ll take re-sponsibility where a dog is concerned – why not with a human being?’

‘Well – it’s rather different, isn’t it?’

Judith said: ‘Yes, it’s more important.’

Norton murmured: ‘You take my breath away.’ Boyd Carrington askedcuriously: ‘So you’d take the risk, would you?’

‘I think so. I’m not afraid of taking risks.’

Boyd Carrington shook his head. ‘It wouldn’t do, you know. You can’thave people here, there, and everywhere, taking the law into their ownhands, deciding matters of life and death.’

Norton said: ‘Actually, you know, Boyd Carrington, most peoplewouldn’t have the nerve to take the responsibility.’ He smiled faintly as helooked at Judith. ‘Don’t believe you would if it came to the point.’

Judith said composedly: ‘One can’t be sure, of course. I think I should.’

Norton said with a slight twinkle: ‘Not unless you had an axe of yourown to grind.’

Judith flushed hotly. She said sharply: ‘That just shows you don’t under-stand at all. If I had a – a personal motive, I couldn’t do anything. Don’tyou see?’ she appealed to us all. ‘It’s got to be absolutely impersonal. Youcould only take the responsibility of – of ending a life if you were quitesure of your motive. It must be absolutely selfless.’

‘All the same,’ said Norton, ‘you wouldn’t do it.’

Judith insisted: ‘I would. To begin with I don’t hold life as sacred as allyou people do. Unfit lives, useless lives – they should be got out of the way.

There’s so much mess about. Only people who can make a decent contribu-tion to the community ought to be allowed to live. The others ought to beput painlessly away.’

She appealed suddenly to Boyd Carrington.

‘You agree with me, don’t you?’

He said slowly: ‘In principle, yes. Only the worthwhile should survive.’

‘Wouldn’t you take the law into your own hands if it was necessary?’

Boyd Carrington said slowly: ‘Perhaps. I don’t know …’

Norton said quietly: ‘A lot of people would agree with you in theory. Butpractice is a different matter.’

‘That’s not logical.’

Norton said impatiently: ‘Of course it’s not. It’s really a question of cour-age. One just hasn’t got the guts, to put it vulgarly.’

Judith was silent. Norton went on.

‘Frankly, you know, Judith, you’d be just the same yourself. Youwouldn’t have the courage when it came to it.’

‘Don’t you think so?’

‘I’m sure of it.’

‘I think you’re wrong, Norton,’ said Boyd Carrington. ‘I think Judith hasany amount of courage. Fortunately the issue doesn’t present itself.’

The gong sounded from the house.

Judith got up.

She said very distinctly to Norton: ‘You’re wrong, you know. I’ve gotmore – more guts than you think.’

She went swiftly towards the house. Boyd Carrington followed her say-ing, ‘Hey, wait for me, Judith.’

I followed, feeling for some reason rather dismayed. Norton, who wasalways quick to sense a mood, endeavoured to console me.

‘She doesn’t mean it, you know,’ he said. ‘It’s the sort of half-baked ideaone has when one is young, but fortunately one doesn’t carry it out. It re-mains just talk.’

I think Judith overheard, for she cast a furious glance over her shoulder.

Norton dropped his voice. ‘Theories needn’t worry anybody,’ he said.

‘But look here, Hastings –’

‘Yes?’

Norton seemed rather embarrassed. He said: ‘I don’t want to butt in, butwhat do you know of Allerton?’

‘Of Allerton?’

‘Yes, sorry if I’m being a Nosy Parker, but frankly if I were you Ishouldn’t let that girl of yours see too much of him. He’s – well, his reputa-tion isn’t very good.’

‘I can see for myself the sort of rotter he is,’ I said bitterly. ‘But it’s not soeasy in these days.’

‘Oh, I know. Girls can look after themselves, as the saying goes. Most ofthem can, too. But – well – Allerton has rather a special technique in thatline.’ He hesitated, then said: ‘Look here, I feel I ought to tell you. Don’t letit go farther, of course – but I do happen to know something pretty foulabout him.’

He told it me then and there – and I was able to verify it in every detaillater. It was a revolting tale. The story of a girl, sure of herself, modern, in-dependent. Allerton had brought all his technique to bear upon her. Laterhad come the other side of the picture – the story ended with a desperategirl taking her own life with an overdose of Veronal.

And the horrible part was that the girl in question had been much thesame type as Judith – the independent, high-brow kind. The kind of girlwho when she does lose her heart, loses it with a desperation and anabandonment that the silly little fluffy type can never know.

I went in to lunch with a horrible sense of foreboding.

 

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