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Authors: Iain Crichton Smith
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drinks vodka. After the usual greetings, I was given a
drink.
‘And how are you enjoying your holiday?’ I asked them.
‘Oh, fine,’ said Lorna. ‘We were out fishing in a boat today.’
‘We didn’t catch anything,’ said Edward.
‘Like me,’ I said. ‘I fish in the loch but I never catch anything either.’
I like sitting in the evening with professional people, preferably ones who have come from outside the village and are there only for a short time. I should have preferred to talk about books,
art, music and even philosophy but one can’t have everything. Lorna pretends she’s cultured but she isn’t, though she goes to the theatre quite a bit as her husband is often away
from home. She told me that Edinburgh is as beautiful as ever and just as cold.
Dougie said to her, ‘Of course you know that Charles’s wife came from Edinburgh, but she settled here quite happily.’ I was surprised that his own wife wasn’t in the room
till I remembered that there was an evening service on in church. He looked flushed as if he had been drinking rather heavily before I had come in. We talked about Edinburgh for a while, Edward
silent as usual.
‘I go to quite a lot of things at the Festival,’ said Lorna. ‘But there’s so much. It’s impossible to see it all.’
I envied her for that. To be able to see all the drama that one wanted to watch, to hear all the music that one wished to hear, and to see films and read books, that would have been my ideal
life. But of course it was impossible.
‘It’s quite often the case,’ she said, ‘that people who come from the city settle down happily in the country.’ She was referring to my wife.
‘Yes,’ said Dougie, ‘she settled down happily here. I don’t know whether she missed Edinburgh at all.’
‘A little,’ I said. ‘She missed it a little. Especially in the spring.’
‘I should like to stay here all the time,’ said Lorna sipping her vodka.
I discounted what she said. They all spoke like this when they came home for their annual holiday but they would have been driven out of their minds by boredom if they stayed for more than a
month and especially if they remained during the winter.
So much of language is lying, polite lying but still lying. The difference between men and animals is that men lie, animals don’t. This thought came to me quite clearly as I listened to
her bubbling on.
There were so many definitions about the difference between men and animals but this one came to me quite effortlessly. Man is the animal who lies. I sipped my whisky meditatively till Dougie
suddenly said, ‘The hermit was in today. He was getting his provisions.’
‘Hermit?’ said Lorna looking up.
‘Oh yes,’ said Dougie, ‘didn’t I tell you we have a hermit? No one speaks of anything else here these days.’
He went over and refilled our glasses, all except Edward’s, who said that he was quite happy. One could never tell what he was thinking. He let his wife do all the talking and sat quietly
listening. One couldn’t imagine him saying or doing anything rash. One could however quite easily imagine him in a coldly computerised ship absorbed in instruments.
‘Isn’t that interesting?’ Lorna said to him. ‘A hermit. Imagine that. And, tell me, does he stay entirely by himself?’
‘He does,’ said Dougie, ‘in one of those huts the RAF used to have. And he doesn’t speak to anyone. He had the same routine today,’ he said, turning to me.
‘He took a piece of paper out of his pocket with the messages written on it but he didn’t speak. Funny thing, the people are turning against him. The children were shouting after him
after he got on his bicycle.’ As he was speaking Dougie’s voice was becoming slurred and lazy.
‘I can imagine it,’ I said.
‘And another odd thing. Stork’s wife went in front of him in the queue, though she had no right to. But you know her. And he just accepted it. I wondered what he
drink.
‘And how are you enjoying your holiday?’ I asked them.
‘Oh, fine,’ said Lorna. ‘We were out fishing in a boat today.’
‘We didn’t catch anything,’ said Edward.
‘Like me,’ I said. ‘I fish in the loch but I never catch anything either.’
I like sitting in the evening with professional people, preferably ones who have come from outside the village and are there only for a short time. I should have preferred to talk about books,
art, music and even philosophy but one can’t have everything. Lorna pretends she’s cultured but she isn’t, though she goes to the theatre quite a bit as her husband is often away
from home. She told me that Edinburgh is as beautiful as ever and just as cold.
Dougie said to her, ‘Of course you know that Charles’s wife came from Edinburgh, but she settled here quite happily.’ I was surprised that his own wife wasn’t in the room
till I remembered that there was an evening service on in church. He looked flushed as if he had been drinking rather heavily before I had come in. We talked about Edinburgh for a while, Edward
silent as usual.
‘I go to quite a lot of things at the Festival,’ said Lorna. ‘But there’s so much. It’s impossible to see it all.’
I envied her for that. To be able to see all the drama that one wanted to watch, to hear all the music that one wished to hear, and to see films and read books, that would have been my ideal
life. But of course it was impossible.
‘It’s quite often the case,’ she said, ‘that people who come from the city settle down happily in the country.’ She was referring to my wife.
‘Yes,’ said Dougie, ‘she settled down happily here. I don’t know whether she missed Edinburgh at all.’
‘A little,’ I said. ‘She missed it a little. Especially in the spring.’
‘I should like to stay here all the time,’ said Lorna sipping her vodka.
I discounted what she said. They all spoke like this when they came home for their annual holiday but they would have been driven out of their minds by boredom if they stayed for more than a
month and especially if they remained during the winter.
So much of language is lying, polite lying but still lying. The difference between men and animals is that men lie, animals don’t. This thought came to me quite clearly as I listened to
her bubbling on.
There were so many definitions about the difference between men and animals but this one came to me quite effortlessly. Man is the animal who lies. I sipped my whisky meditatively till Dougie
suddenly said, ‘The hermit was in today. He was getting his provisions.’
‘Hermit?’ said Lorna looking up.
‘Oh yes,’ said Dougie, ‘didn’t I tell you we have a hermit? No one speaks of anything else here these days.’
He went over and refilled our glasses, all except Edward’s, who said that he was quite happy. One could never tell what he was thinking. He let his wife do all the talking and sat quietly
listening. One couldn’t imagine him saying or doing anything rash. One could however quite easily imagine him in a coldly computerised ship absorbed in instruments.
‘Isn’t that interesting?’ Lorna said to him. ‘A hermit. Imagine that. And, tell me, does he stay entirely by himself?’
‘He does,’ said Dougie, ‘in one of those huts the RAF used to have. And he doesn’t speak to anyone. He had the same routine today,’ he said, turning to me.
‘He took a piece of paper out of his pocket with the messages written on it but he didn’t speak. Funny thing, the people are turning against him. The children were shouting after him
after he got on his bicycle.’ As he was speaking Dougie’s voice was becoming slurred and lazy.
‘I can imagine it,’ I said.
‘And another odd thing. Stork’s wife went in front of him in the queue, though she had no right to. But you know her. And he just accepted it. I wondered what he
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