Read Online The Stranger Came by Frederic Lindsay - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Frederic Lindsay
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marriages break up over money than sex. That seemed likely; but then it occurred to her that Janet might have done more than smile and flatter those old men with the power to put contracts Ewen's way.
Had she let them touch her? Those old gross men?
There was no way it seemed of controlling your thoughts.
'Would you fetch my briefcase?' Maitland asked.
It was the comfortable time of the evening to which she looked forward. They had brought through the percolator and the little Dutch cups – windmills 4 and 6 of the set, 'Gronzeilermolen' and 'Stellingmolen' – to finish their meal in front of the living-room fire. She had been wondering if it would be disloyal to tell Maitland about Janet, but wondering with the comfortable certainty that she would, since she told him everything.
'You want me to get it?' The request puzzled her. 'But where is it?'
'You didn't notice? I thought you might have. I put it down when I came into the hall.’
'And you want me to get it?'
'Please .’
It crossed her mind she was being obtuse and spoiling some surprise he had for her. The briefcase was lying on the hall .table. He had a new one, but still preferred this battered old favourite in which he carried books and papers, notes for talks and documents for Department meetings. There was nothing lying beside it: she had thought of chocolates; Maitland was fond of chocolates. She hefted the weight of the case.
'I've poured coffee,' Maitland said.
'Lovely .’
He took the case from her without acknowledgement, setting it on his knee and resting the delicate china cup upon it. She sipped her coffee, but the comfortable evening mood was spoiled. She waited.
'I had a seminar this afternoon,' Maitland said. He scraped the edge of the case with a fingernail. The sound affected her nerves unpleasantly. 'A group of bright young men – and women. Bright young people. I was reflecting on the Brothers Grimm. Would you believe, by the way, that not one of them could name one of Grimms' folk tales, never mind having read them? "Cinderella ...?" was one offering. Thank God, we didn't sink to Donald Duck.’ And in his eager American voice, '"Was that the guy who drew Snoopy, sir?" No, we're dealing with the cream of their generation. It's just that their generation hasn't been told about how the fearless boy learned fear or about the little girl who kept sticking her arm up out of the grave until they sent for her mother who came and whacked it down with a stick. Deprived. What do you think they had instead? The castles of Auschwitz and Dachau? Heinrich Himmler as hobgoblin? The German children of Grimm.’
'Wouldn't that be our generation?'
'Ancient history, you mean. And what will their children have? A video of The Killing Fields as a grotesquerie for the nursery?'
'Poor things – after all, they weren't expecting a seminar on folk-tales!' She laughed and felt better. Unlike Janet and Ewen Hayes their lives were not separate.
'In a way that was the point. They knew all about Grimm's law – voiceless stops and voiceless fricatives and the rest of it. Folklore and philology under the same hat – that's what I wanted them to think about. Those founding fathers were amateurs in a way it's not possible for any of us to be now. You get that lovely sense of the uncluttered power of the mind, pure logical intellect, which only comes from laymen busy inventing their science. Hutton in geology, Hugh Miller among his Old Red Sandstone; the assault of non-specialist reason upon the mysteries of nature.’
This tone of the lecture-room – he had too much of a sense of humour, too much of a sense of proportion for this. Uncertainly, she returned his smile.
'You might call it innocence. Who's been a bigger critic of the military-industrial complex than Noam Chomsky? And yet,' he reached a book down from the shelf, 'the research for Aspects of the Theory of Syntax was paid for by, let's see, "the Joint Services Electronics Programs (US Army, US
Had she let them touch her? Those old gross men?
There was no way it seemed of controlling your thoughts.
'Would you fetch my briefcase?' Maitland asked.
It was the comfortable time of the evening to which she looked forward. They had brought through the percolator and the little Dutch cups – windmills 4 and 6 of the set, 'Gronzeilermolen' and 'Stellingmolen' – to finish their meal in front of the living-room fire. She had been wondering if it would be disloyal to tell Maitland about Janet, but wondering with the comfortable certainty that she would, since she told him everything.
'You want me to get it?' The request puzzled her. 'But where is it?'
'You didn't notice? I thought you might have. I put it down when I came into the hall.’
'And you want me to get it?'
'Please .’
It crossed her mind she was being obtuse and spoiling some surprise he had for her. The briefcase was lying on the hall .table. He had a new one, but still preferred this battered old favourite in which he carried books and papers, notes for talks and documents for Department meetings. There was nothing lying beside it: she had thought of chocolates; Maitland was fond of chocolates. She hefted the weight of the case.
'I've poured coffee,' Maitland said.
'Lovely .’
He took the case from her without acknowledgement, setting it on his knee and resting the delicate china cup upon it. She sipped her coffee, but the comfortable evening mood was spoiled. She waited.
'I had a seminar this afternoon,' Maitland said. He scraped the edge of the case with a fingernail. The sound affected her nerves unpleasantly. 'A group of bright young men – and women. Bright young people. I was reflecting on the Brothers Grimm. Would you believe, by the way, that not one of them could name one of Grimms' folk tales, never mind having read them? "Cinderella ...?" was one offering. Thank God, we didn't sink to Donald Duck.’ And in his eager American voice, '"Was that the guy who drew Snoopy, sir?" No, we're dealing with the cream of their generation. It's just that their generation hasn't been told about how the fearless boy learned fear or about the little girl who kept sticking her arm up out of the grave until they sent for her mother who came and whacked it down with a stick. Deprived. What do you think they had instead? The castles of Auschwitz and Dachau? Heinrich Himmler as hobgoblin? The German children of Grimm.’
'Wouldn't that be our generation?'
'Ancient history, you mean. And what will their children have? A video of The Killing Fields as a grotesquerie for the nursery?'
'Poor things – after all, they weren't expecting a seminar on folk-tales!' She laughed and felt better. Unlike Janet and Ewen Hayes their lives were not separate.
'In a way that was the point. They knew all about Grimm's law – voiceless stops and voiceless fricatives and the rest of it. Folklore and philology under the same hat – that's what I wanted them to think about. Those founding fathers were amateurs in a way it's not possible for any of us to be now. You get that lovely sense of the uncluttered power of the mind, pure logical intellect, which only comes from laymen busy inventing their science. Hutton in geology, Hugh Miller among his Old Red Sandstone; the assault of non-specialist reason upon the mysteries of nature.’
This tone of the lecture-room – he had too much of a sense of humour, too much of a sense of proportion for this. Uncertainly, she returned his smile.
'You might call it innocence. Who's been a bigger critic of the military-industrial complex than Noam Chomsky? And yet,' he reached a book down from the shelf, 'the research for Aspects of the Theory of Syntax was paid for by, let's see, "the Joint Services Electronics Programs (US Army, US
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