Read Online The Museum of Doubt by James Meek - Free Book Online

understand them if you could. Adam stood still for a while, listening, with his hands in the water of the basin, gripping the knife, the slivers of peel rocking on the surface tickling his wrists. Great long speeches they were making to each other. What the fuck about? It sounded eloquent and interesting. He only heard his own name mentioned once. Ad-dam. He’d never be able to prove she spoke better in Mercian, even if he learned it, especially if he learned it, what could he do but slow her down, but he knew for certain, even though she denied it, that she was better in Mercian. Her English was perfect of course in a way that you didn’t think about it but her Mercian was perfect in a way that you did. It was like an otter, there was nothing to prove they preferred land or water, but you knew they liked pussing about in the river more, you just had to look at them. Dryk, the in-law kept saying, dryk.
    Adam stuck the peeled tatties in the pot and went and leanedback against the windowsill, looking down the kitchen. He tapped the box in his jeans pocket with the flat of his fingertips and didn’t take it out. That was another Mercian word he knew: cygaret. Also televysion, radyo, VCR and wheel. Wheel! That was a giveaway. They hadn’t even changed the spelling. What’d they used before, sledges?
    It was necessary to get stuck in to the grammar tables, that was all. An idea existed that he was a guest and Cate’s real lover was about to arrive and at that time it’d be time to be not there.
    If Birmingham was full of Mercians and him and Cate were the only English speakers and they were talking about whatever bulk-buy crispy high-fat diet nuggets of conversation they engaged in, operational stuff, it would sound the same as Cate and her dad. They weren’t reciting poetry to each other. They weren’t talking about life and death, the limits of time, the origin and the end of things, the areas that didn’t tolerate words as English had designed them, the very colours, the very sense of the change of season, the very love there was. It just sounded like it. Dryk. He knew what they were talking about. Dead relatives. Mum. Remember Mum? She was great, wasn’t she. Yeah. Remember how she used to make those things, you know, the things she used to make. That was what they were talking about.
    He heard Cate say: Y leya tess.
    He moved over to the cooker and tipped the sprouts into the boiling water, hoping to blister his hands, not like he was trying, but sometimes a dose of pain and disfigurement was what you needed, that was why people carried needles and razor blades in their pockets, to prick and cut themselves when they needed their mind taking off things. He ballooned his cheeks and rubbed his palms on his jeans, looking round. It was hot. You didn’t tell your dad you loved him like you told a lover you loved him,even in Mercian, not when your husband wasn’t supposed to be listening and you knew he was.
    They stopped talking and after a few minutes Cate came through to where he was standing over the pots and embraced him from behind, her hips against his bum, her cheek against his back and her palms on his chest.
    OK? she said.
    It’s a sauna, a sauna, a steak and kidney sauna, said Adam.
    I’m sorry, she whispered. You know.
    Aye, I know what I know. Get the knives and forks, eh.
    At the beginning of the meal Adam said if they wanted to speak Mercian, that was fine by him, and Cate said no it was OK, and her dad said nothing, and they ate the food and Cate’s dad asked about the job hunting and when they were going up to Fife to see Adam’s family, and they got on to the price of travel, and then television subjects, and Adam asked if they could have on the Cabaret soundtrack, and Cate’s dad put it on and brought a Christmas cake out from the kitchen and Cate sliced it up for them and Adam looked at Cate’s dad, smiled and said: Y tess ley.
    Don’t Adam, said Cate.
    Y tess ley, said Adam again still