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Authors: Peter Carey
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the willow pattern) and, more particularly, the so-called shepherd's pie which seemed like a thick layer of potato with a thin sauce underneath. It had a most peculiar taste-curry-but never having tasted curry he did not know it.
It also contained raisins. He did not know what this signified, but in spite of the Christmas pudding that had led him here, the raisins felt wrong to him. You do not stop being one of the Plymouth Brethren in five minutes. He placed the raisins across the pagans' faces. It was important that he eat everything on his plate, that much was made clear to him. When he had finished everything but the raisins, Mrs Stratton leaned across and put another large spoonful on his plate.
"Thank you," he said. He wished he had never come here.
'They are only raisins," said Mrs Stratton, beaming at him through the gloom.
"Only raisins!" snorted Mr Stratton. "At four pence the pound and only."
"Yes, my darling," said Mrs Stratton whose father had sent the raisins (finest Elemes) together with a whole tea-chest full of other items he classed as "necessaries," on the train from Oxford.
"He is probably unfamiliar with them. Are you familiar with raisins?"
"Oh, yes," said Oscar. "Yes, I am." He was pleased to have such a simple reason for not eating raisins. He begged her silently to remove the plate from him. He sipped his tea. He smiled painfully at Mr Stratton who also tried to show good will.
Mr Stratton was tense. He clicked his fork against his empty plate and took a sip of what Oscar realized must be "drink."
42
Raisins
"Have you ever seen an orange?" Mrs Stratton asked. She had a pretty face, Oscar thought, with large soft lips and pale, gentle, blinking eyes, but everything about her was bigger than it should have been. "Yes," he said.
"Jolly good!" she said, and leaned back, folding her hands in her lap as if oranges were why he was there. He ate more of the nasty food. -'•-...•
He thought: "They are Thy servants, Lord." It would appear that neither of the Strattons knew what to talk to him about. Mr Stratton tapped his plate with his fork and had more of his "drink." Mrs Stratton asked him about various fruit and then described for him a little church in Torquay which was being restored by some followers of Dr Pusey. There were to be a number of altars in the church apart from the high altar. Each altar was to have its own dresser and wardrobe in its sacristy. She asked Oscar what his view was on this subject.
"I do not know, ma'am," the boy said in misery. He knew an altar was a place where heathen sacrifice was made. It was all he knew about the term. He knew he must eat his raisins, otherwise his plate would not be taken from him. They were waiting for him to eat the raisins. The raisins had become a symbol of a Christmas pudding. He knew he should eat them. He could not bring himself to do it.
"So you draw the line at altars," Mrs Stratton suggested. "Well, I don't know-Hugh, I really don't-don't know that it is incorrect to do so, for really there is so much that we have accepted unthinkingly, and if you will call it a communion table instead, I, for one, will not call you a fanatic."
The boy moved a raisin sideways on the rim on his plate. He looked so very unhappy. Mrs Stratton smiled. "Really, you know," she said, "it is a nice distinction. Don't you think so, Hugh?" And having begun her speech so confidently, she now ended on a breathless and rather supplicatory note, bowing her head. Mr Stratton suddenly took Oscar's raisins. He speared them, one, two, etc., with his fork. He did not speak until he had finished eating them.
"Do you think your pater will come rushing around here?" He stared at Oscar belligerently. 43
Oscar and Lucinda
Oscar could not hold his gaze. He was not comforted when Mrs Stratton patted his hand."
"Threatening me?" asked Mr Stratton.
Until this moment Oscar had not thought about the immediate future at all. He had his mind on eternity. He had thought
It also contained raisins. He did not know what this signified, but in spite of the Christmas pudding that had led him here, the raisins felt wrong to him. You do not stop being one of the Plymouth Brethren in five minutes. He placed the raisins across the pagans' faces. It was important that he eat everything on his plate, that much was made clear to him. When he had finished everything but the raisins, Mrs Stratton leaned across and put another large spoonful on his plate.
"Thank you," he said. He wished he had never come here.
'They are only raisins," said Mrs Stratton, beaming at him through the gloom.
"Only raisins!" snorted Mr Stratton. "At four pence the pound and only."
"Yes, my darling," said Mrs Stratton whose father had sent the raisins (finest Elemes) together with a whole tea-chest full of other items he classed as "necessaries," on the train from Oxford.
"He is probably unfamiliar with them. Are you familiar with raisins?"
"Oh, yes," said Oscar. "Yes, I am." He was pleased to have such a simple reason for not eating raisins. He begged her silently to remove the plate from him. He sipped his tea. He smiled painfully at Mr Stratton who also tried to show good will.
Mr Stratton was tense. He clicked his fork against his empty plate and took a sip of what Oscar realized must be "drink."
42
Raisins
"Have you ever seen an orange?" Mrs Stratton asked. She had a pretty face, Oscar thought, with large soft lips and pale, gentle, blinking eyes, but everything about her was bigger than it should have been. "Yes," he said.
"Jolly good!" she said, and leaned back, folding her hands in her lap as if oranges were why he was there. He ate more of the nasty food. -'•-...•
He thought: "They are Thy servants, Lord." It would appear that neither of the Strattons knew what to talk to him about. Mr Stratton tapped his plate with his fork and had more of his "drink." Mrs Stratton asked him about various fruit and then described for him a little church in Torquay which was being restored by some followers of Dr Pusey. There were to be a number of altars in the church apart from the high altar. Each altar was to have its own dresser and wardrobe in its sacristy. She asked Oscar what his view was on this subject.
"I do not know, ma'am," the boy said in misery. He knew an altar was a place where heathen sacrifice was made. It was all he knew about the term. He knew he must eat his raisins, otherwise his plate would not be taken from him. They were waiting for him to eat the raisins. The raisins had become a symbol of a Christmas pudding. He knew he should eat them. He could not bring himself to do it.
"So you draw the line at altars," Mrs Stratton suggested. "Well, I don't know-Hugh, I really don't-don't know that it is incorrect to do so, for really there is so much that we have accepted unthinkingly, and if you will call it a communion table instead, I, for one, will not call you a fanatic."
The boy moved a raisin sideways on the rim on his plate. He looked so very unhappy. Mrs Stratton smiled. "Really, you know," she said, "it is a nice distinction. Don't you think so, Hugh?" And having begun her speech so confidently, she now ended on a breathless and rather supplicatory note, bowing her head. Mr Stratton suddenly took Oscar's raisins. He speared them, one, two, etc., with his fork. He did not speak until he had finished eating them.
"Do you think your pater will come rushing around here?" He stared at Oscar belligerently. 43
Oscar and Lucinda
Oscar could not hold his gaze. He was not comforted when Mrs Stratton patted his hand."
"Threatening me?" asked Mr Stratton.
Until this moment Oscar had not thought about the immediate future at all. He had his mind on eternity. He had thought
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