met her. Down the coast, through Genoa to Pisa, across to Florence, Rimini, Urbino, Perugia, Arezzo, Siena, back to Pisa and up again. Benny had just removed a great slice out of Italy for him. He might as well take a pair of scissors to the map, shear straight across it-from Pisa to Rimini, cut a parallel line through Assisi, and then stick the bottom bit of Italy back on to what was now left of the top bit. Make it into a mere bootee—the sort with little buttons down the side. As worn by posh whores; or so he imagined.
They could go to Ravenna, he supposed. He hated mosaics. He really hated mosaics. Benny had left him with the mosaics. Thanks very much, Benny.
‘We could go to Bologna,’ he said finally.
‘You’ve been to Bologna before.’
‘Yes.’
‘You went to Bologna with Barbara.’
‘Yes.’
‘You almost certainly slept in the same bed as Barbara in Bologna.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, Bologna’s fine with me. Is it a nice place to go?’
‘I’ve forgotten.’
Graham stared at the map again. Ann stroked the side of his head, trying not to feel guilty about what she knew it would be foolish to begin feeling guilty about. After a few minutes’ contemplation Graham said quietly,
‘Ann … ’
‘Yes?’
‘When you went to Italy … ’
‘Yes?’
‘With Benny … ’
‘Yes?’
‘Was there … was there … I was just wondering … ’
‘It’s better to say it than not to say it.’
‘Was there … well, was there … I shouldn’t think you can remember … ’ He looked at her mournfully, pleadingly, hopefully. She longed to be able to give him the answer he wanted. ‘ … But was there anywhere you went that you can remember—that you can remember
definitely
… ’
‘Yes, love?’
‘ … that you had the curse?’
They began to laugh quietly together. They kissed a little awkwardly, as if neither of them had expected to kiss; and then Ann firmly folded up the map.
But the next day, when Graham got home a few hours before Ann, he found himself straying back to her bookshelves. He knelt in front of the third shelf from the bottom and looked at her travel books. A couple of guides to London, one to the Pennines—they didn’t mean anything. A student guide to San Francisco; James Morris on Venice; Companion Guides to Florence (of course) and the South ofFrance; Germany, Spain, Los Angeles, India. He didn’t know she’d been to India. Who’d she been to India with, he wondered; though with not much zest, or jealousy for that matter, perhaps because he had little desire to go there himself.
He pulled out the handful of maps wedged at the end of the shelf. It was hard to tell straightaway which cities they were of, because Ann hadn’t bothered to fold them back—as he would have done—so that the title page was on the outside. He wondered if this carelessness was common to most women; he wouldn’t be surprised if it were. Women, after all, were unreliable in their spatial and geographical awareness. They often had no natural sense of North; some even had problems telling left from right (like Alison, his first girlfriend; whenever she was asked to give directions in a car, she would hold up a fist and look at it—as if there were a big sticky label on its back saying either RIGHT or LEFT —and then read off to the driver what her hand said). Was it all conditioning, he wondered; or brain structure?
Women, it seemed, also had no easily acquired mental map of cities. Graham had once seen an illustration of the human body in which the size of each part was represented according to the sensitivity of its surface area: the resulting homunculus displayed an enormous head with African lips, hands like baseball gloves, and a thin, pickled body in between. He ought to have remembered the size of the genitals, but couldn’t. Ann’s private map of London, he thought, would be similarly distorted and unbalanced: at its southern end a vastly inflated
They could go to Ravenna, he supposed. He hated mosaics. He really hated mosaics. Benny had left him with the mosaics. Thanks very much, Benny.
‘We could go to Bologna,’ he said finally.
‘You’ve been to Bologna before.’
‘Yes.’
‘You went to Bologna with Barbara.’
‘Yes.’
‘You almost certainly slept in the same bed as Barbara in Bologna.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, Bologna’s fine with me. Is it a nice place to go?’
‘I’ve forgotten.’
Graham stared at the map again. Ann stroked the side of his head, trying not to feel guilty about what she knew it would be foolish to begin feeling guilty about. After a few minutes’ contemplation Graham said quietly,
‘Ann … ’
‘Yes?’
‘When you went to Italy … ’
‘Yes?’
‘With Benny … ’
‘Yes?’
‘Was there … was there … I was just wondering … ’
‘It’s better to say it than not to say it.’
‘Was there … well, was there … I shouldn’t think you can remember … ’ He looked at her mournfully, pleadingly, hopefully. She longed to be able to give him the answer he wanted. ‘ … But was there anywhere you went that you can remember—that you can remember
definitely
… ’
‘Yes, love?’
‘ … that you had the curse?’
They began to laugh quietly together. They kissed a little awkwardly, as if neither of them had expected to kiss; and then Ann firmly folded up the map.
But the next day, when Graham got home a few hours before Ann, he found himself straying back to her bookshelves. He knelt in front of the third shelf from the bottom and looked at her travel books. A couple of guides to London, one to the Pennines—they didn’t mean anything. A student guide to San Francisco; James Morris on Venice; Companion Guides to Florence (of course) and the South ofFrance; Germany, Spain, Los Angeles, India. He didn’t know she’d been to India. Who’d she been to India with, he wondered; though with not much zest, or jealousy for that matter, perhaps because he had little desire to go there himself.
He pulled out the handful of maps wedged at the end of the shelf. It was hard to tell straightaway which cities they were of, because Ann hadn’t bothered to fold them back—as he would have done—so that the title page was on the outside. He wondered if this carelessness was common to most women; he wouldn’t be surprised if it were. Women, after all, were unreliable in their spatial and geographical awareness. They often had no natural sense of North; some even had problems telling left from right (like Alison, his first girlfriend; whenever she was asked to give directions in a car, she would hold up a fist and look at it—as if there were a big sticky label on its back saying either RIGHT or LEFT —and then read off to the driver what her hand said). Was it all conditioning, he wondered; or brain structure?
Women, it seemed, also had no easily acquired mental map of cities. Graham had once seen an illustration of the human body in which the size of each part was represented according to the sensitivity of its surface area: the resulting homunculus displayed an enormous head with African lips, hands like baseball gloves, and a thin, pickled body in between. He ought to have remembered the size of the genitals, but couldn’t. Ann’s private map of London, he thought, would be similarly distorted and unbalanced: at its southern end a vastly inflated
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