cancer, our mother could still be alive, probably. But isnât some of it false improvement, false betterment? Weâre making the world too ugly. Weâve forgotten how to live.
â Youâd be surprised, said Roland, â how long people have been saying that.
â You are an incurable romantic, Alice. Harriet sounded so bitter that everyone looked at her.
â Perhaps I am. Isnât the world ugly, though? And getting uglier.
â You donât know the peasantry, Pilar said briskly. â Itâs easy to idealise them, but their way of life is very backward. If you saw them, you might change your mind.
Alice was silenced for a moment, unpicking conscientiously her shocked reaction to that word
backward
. After all, what did she know about the Argentinian peasantry, or peasantry anywhere? Rolandâs sisters looked cautiously at him â he might be scorched, feeling how thoroughly his new wife didnât fit inside their well-worn family forms. Also, they wondered how well this idea of backwardness would go down at his university. Stolidly Roland resisted their interest, keeping his own counsel as he always had, even when it hadnât interested them so much. He knew Pilar didnât enjoy these kind of discussions where there was no practical outcome, no decision to make. She believed social occasions ought to be lubricated with an agreed civility, limited and shallow.
Pilar began clearing the breakfast things onto a tray, refusing help when Harriet offered it. She was wearing a white shirt, and jeans that fitted her curved slim haunches precisely. When they began living together, Roland had been surprised that she put on clean clothes every day â and they were always spotless, never crumpled. At the end of each week, he discovered, she sent everything sheâd worn to the dry cleaners or the laundry. This had seemed profligate to him at first, but lately heâd begun to do the same. And Pilar haggled rather brutally if there was the least grease spot or crease when their clothes were delivered back. The people at the cleaners seemed to admire her for it.
â Weâre going to drive into town, he said to Alice now, â to pick up the papers and find somewhere to check emails. If we do decide to keep the house on, you know, we ought to get broadband. It just makes life easier.
â But thatâs just whatâs precious here, Alice protested. â That weâre not in connection with everything outside. Itâs a sanctuary.
Kasim had acquired a map from the study. He led them to the waterfall a different way, through a tunnel where a railway line had once passed overhead, then across a stretch of high scrubland with wooden fire towers set at vantage points. They wouldnât pass the ruined cottage until they were on their way home. In the woods they threw pine cones again: Molly screeched unselfconsciously when she was hit, racing flat-footed along the path, throwing cones back hard at Kasim â she and Arthur seemed to be in league together against the other two. Collaborating with Kasim, Ivy was happy. Her movements seemed perfectly attuned to his, running among the trees, collecting ammunition and then waiting in ambush.
The waterfall when they eventually arrived was a disappointment. In Ivyâs anticipation it had tumbled in a crystal stream, foaming into the pool below; in reality it was a swelling silver rope in a long curtain of vividly green moss. There was no authoritative thunder of falling water, only a subdued trickling. Because sheâd talked it up as the climax of their walk, she felt humiliated. Kasim and Molly hardly looked at it. Molly flopped down in the grass and closed her eyes as if she was sunbathing, Kasim sat nearby and began reading a book which he took out of the back pocket of his shorts. In truth they were both â briefly â disappointed too: they had longed, without knowing it, for the éclat of
â Youâd be surprised, said Roland, â how long people have been saying that.
â You are an incurable romantic, Alice. Harriet sounded so bitter that everyone looked at her.
â Perhaps I am. Isnât the world ugly, though? And getting uglier.
â You donât know the peasantry, Pilar said briskly. â Itâs easy to idealise them, but their way of life is very backward. If you saw them, you might change your mind.
Alice was silenced for a moment, unpicking conscientiously her shocked reaction to that word
backward
. After all, what did she know about the Argentinian peasantry, or peasantry anywhere? Rolandâs sisters looked cautiously at him â he might be scorched, feeling how thoroughly his new wife didnât fit inside their well-worn family forms. Also, they wondered how well this idea of backwardness would go down at his university. Stolidly Roland resisted their interest, keeping his own counsel as he always had, even when it hadnât interested them so much. He knew Pilar didnât enjoy these kind of discussions where there was no practical outcome, no decision to make. She believed social occasions ought to be lubricated with an agreed civility, limited and shallow.
Pilar began clearing the breakfast things onto a tray, refusing help when Harriet offered it. She was wearing a white shirt, and jeans that fitted her curved slim haunches precisely. When they began living together, Roland had been surprised that she put on clean clothes every day â and they were always spotless, never crumpled. At the end of each week, he discovered, she sent everything sheâd worn to the dry cleaners or the laundry. This had seemed profligate to him at first, but lately heâd begun to do the same. And Pilar haggled rather brutally if there was the least grease spot or crease when their clothes were delivered back. The people at the cleaners seemed to admire her for it.
â Weâre going to drive into town, he said to Alice now, â to pick up the papers and find somewhere to check emails. If we do decide to keep the house on, you know, we ought to get broadband. It just makes life easier.
â But thatâs just whatâs precious here, Alice protested. â That weâre not in connection with everything outside. Itâs a sanctuary.
Kasim had acquired a map from the study. He led them to the waterfall a different way, through a tunnel where a railway line had once passed overhead, then across a stretch of high scrubland with wooden fire towers set at vantage points. They wouldnât pass the ruined cottage until they were on their way home. In the woods they threw pine cones again: Molly screeched unselfconsciously when she was hit, racing flat-footed along the path, throwing cones back hard at Kasim â she and Arthur seemed to be in league together against the other two. Collaborating with Kasim, Ivy was happy. Her movements seemed perfectly attuned to his, running among the trees, collecting ammunition and then waiting in ambush.
The waterfall when they eventually arrived was a disappointment. In Ivyâs anticipation it had tumbled in a crystal stream, foaming into the pool below; in reality it was a swelling silver rope in a long curtain of vividly green moss. There was no authoritative thunder of falling water, only a subdued trickling. Because sheâd talked it up as the climax of their walk, she felt humiliated. Kasim and Molly hardly looked at it. Molly flopped down in the grass and closed her eyes as if she was sunbathing, Kasim sat nearby and began reading a book which he took out of the back pocket of his shorts. In truth they were both â briefly â disappointed too: they had longed, without knowing it, for the éclat of
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