future.’
4
It came about that one day the people in the house had simply had enough. A woman borrowed some boots and went into the gutter and began to probe and heave. Foul water ran into the boots, the stink was intolerable, but she was undeterred. She worked hard at clearing the mess. She worked alone. We watched and did not watch her. And then, gradually, people joined in. They waded into the great gutter. They lifted up the hospital bed and pulled out the sunken books. They hoisted out the dead cow and lowered it onto the back of a truck. They took it far away, and dug a very deep hole, and buried it. Some thought it should have been burnt. Others couldn’t bear the thought of death in the air they breathed. They dug out corpses in the gutter and gave them decent burials too.
It was plenty for a day’s work. A symbolic day. The gutter had other grim secrets, though. The hospital bed was still there, on the mud and detritus. But the gutter was less clogged than before. Fewer people were dying. Fewer people caught the mysterious disease. The people felt better about themselves. The long denial was over. Something was being done at last. Children could begin, tentatively, to play again in the house that was a country.
The Secret
Castle
THE BUS DROVE past telegraph poles in meadows of blue. In the bus, on that beautiful Italian day, there were boys returning from school, and working men. The bus came to a stop. A woman with several men came on. She was a young woman who carried herself gracefully. One of the boys helped her into the bus and gave up his window seat to her. She had an exquisite complexion, clear eyes, and uncanny composure. The boy, called Reggio, made friendly conversation with the young woman. The men she was with regarded Reggio with suspicion. He was just a boy, coming home from school, and he meant nothing by it. He was drawn by the mystery of the young woman, who sat impassively, staring straight ahead, as if she were dead, or going to die.
Her face, or, rather, her eyes lit up only when the boy spoke to her and asked questions, to which answers were not necessary. The questions were not necessary either, but life would be duller if he hadn’t asked them.
‘Do you like those hills?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you like that cloud?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you like that horse in the field?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you like that car going past us?’
‘No.’
‘Do you like this bus?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you like school?’
She paused. Her face clouded a little. Then she gave a tiny smile, like a snowdrop, and said:
‘Yes.’
The boy was silent for a while. He was not thinking of any new questions, but just turning over in his mind the clarity of her answers. Somehow, darkly, he found he deduced a great deal from her slender answers, but he wasn’t sure what. Decorum made him silent for longer, but the strangeness of her answers made him want to know more.
The young woman remained impassive, staring straight ahead, barely moving, barely breathing. He didn’t look at her, but he seemed to see her. She gave him the peculiar feeling that she was like a calf being led off to the slaughter.
Then he noticed that she moved. It was a movement so odd, full of such contained intensity, that it seemed to demand him to speak some more.
‘Do you like fields?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you like rivers?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you like roads?’
‘No.’
He paused. He wasn’t expecting that answer at all. He couldn’t see anything wrong with roads. He quite liked roads. But now that he looked at roads through her spirit, he wasn’t so sure. Maybe there was something unnatural about them after all. He wandered off in thought. Then, after a while, she made the same odd movement.
‘Do you like houses?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you like moonlight?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you like mirrors?’
‘No.’
This arrested him. For the first time he turned and gave her a quick look. He thought it strange that someone so
4
It came about that one day the people in the house had simply had enough. A woman borrowed some boots and went into the gutter and began to probe and heave. Foul water ran into the boots, the stink was intolerable, but she was undeterred. She worked hard at clearing the mess. She worked alone. We watched and did not watch her. And then, gradually, people joined in. They waded into the great gutter. They lifted up the hospital bed and pulled out the sunken books. They hoisted out the dead cow and lowered it onto the back of a truck. They took it far away, and dug a very deep hole, and buried it. Some thought it should have been burnt. Others couldn’t bear the thought of death in the air they breathed. They dug out corpses in the gutter and gave them decent burials too.
It was plenty for a day’s work. A symbolic day. The gutter had other grim secrets, though. The hospital bed was still there, on the mud and detritus. But the gutter was less clogged than before. Fewer people were dying. Fewer people caught the mysterious disease. The people felt better about themselves. The long denial was over. Something was being done at last. Children could begin, tentatively, to play again in the house that was a country.
The Secret
Castle
THE BUS DROVE past telegraph poles in meadows of blue. In the bus, on that beautiful Italian day, there were boys returning from school, and working men. The bus came to a stop. A woman with several men came on. She was a young woman who carried herself gracefully. One of the boys helped her into the bus and gave up his window seat to her. She had an exquisite complexion, clear eyes, and uncanny composure. The boy, called Reggio, made friendly conversation with the young woman. The men she was with regarded Reggio with suspicion. He was just a boy, coming home from school, and he meant nothing by it. He was drawn by the mystery of the young woman, who sat impassively, staring straight ahead, as if she were dead, or going to die.
Her face, or, rather, her eyes lit up only when the boy spoke to her and asked questions, to which answers were not necessary. The questions were not necessary either, but life would be duller if he hadn’t asked them.
‘Do you like those hills?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you like that cloud?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you like that horse in the field?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you like that car going past us?’
‘No.’
‘Do you like this bus?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you like school?’
She paused. Her face clouded a little. Then she gave a tiny smile, like a snowdrop, and said:
‘Yes.’
The boy was silent for a while. He was not thinking of any new questions, but just turning over in his mind the clarity of her answers. Somehow, darkly, he found he deduced a great deal from her slender answers, but he wasn’t sure what. Decorum made him silent for longer, but the strangeness of her answers made him want to know more.
The young woman remained impassive, staring straight ahead, barely moving, barely breathing. He didn’t look at her, but he seemed to see her. She gave him the peculiar feeling that she was like a calf being led off to the slaughter.
Then he noticed that she moved. It was a movement so odd, full of such contained intensity, that it seemed to demand him to speak some more.
‘Do you like fields?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you like rivers?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you like roads?’
‘No.’
He paused. He wasn’t expecting that answer at all. He couldn’t see anything wrong with roads. He quite liked roads. But now that he looked at roads through her spirit, he wasn’t so sure. Maybe there was something unnatural about them after all. He wandered off in thought. Then, after a while, she made the same odd movement.
‘Do you like houses?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you like moonlight?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you like mirrors?’
‘No.’
This arrested him. For the first time he turned and gave her a quick look. He thought it strange that someone so
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