Read Online Three to See the King by Magnus Mills - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Magnus Mills
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house in question was now in full view.
‘What’s silly about it?’ I enquired.
‘It’s all silly! Look at it! Sticking up in the middle of nowhere, miles from anyone else!’
‘But that’s why it’s so perfect!’
‘You really believe that, don’t you?’ she said. ‘You really think you’re living some sort of enviable existence. That’s the reason you keep going over to Simon’s all the time: you just can’t accept that he could ever dream of moving away. Oh no, there can’t be anywhere better than here because this is the centre of the world! Everyone else must be wrong! How can they not want to live on a cold, windy and desolate plain, in a silly little house of tin where you have to shovel sand every morning and bolt the door to stop it flying open?’
Suddenly Mary Petrie stopped in her tracks and faced me.
‘I’ll tell you why you’re here,’ she said. ‘You’re here because you think it makes you different. You think this silly little tinpot life of yours, this self-imposed isolation, makes you more interesting than other people. Don’t you? Eh? You’re convinced that if everybody had the chance then they too would live in a house built entirely from tin. You can’t see that all you’re doing is playing, the same as Simon, Steve and Philip were playing before they grew out of it! You’re playing at being a loner who can get by without anyone else. That’s why you cut yourself off like some recluse! You couldn’t find a cabin in a canyon so you chose this place instead. A gleaming, grey, two-storey edifice with a sloping roof and a tin-plate chimney! You believe it’s a fortress, but I’ll tell you something: it’s tinny and it’s temporary and one of these days it’s going to fall down about your ears!’
When she’d finished speaking she stood glaring at me with her hands on her hips and her eyes ablaze.
I waited a moment and then said, ‘So you don’t like my corrugated dwelling?’
Mary Petrie sighed. ‘You still don’t understand,’ she said. ‘What I mean is, it’s not where you are that counts but who you’re with.’
‘Does that mean I shouldn’t go to Simon Painter’s any more?’
‘Of course not, but try to pay me some attention too.’
‘Alright then.’
Her look softened. She sighed again and turned towards the house. I watched as she walked the remaining distance before disappearing inside, then spent a few minutes pondering what she’d said. The gist of it, as far as I could gather, was that the whole place was on the verge of collapse. Obviously I didn’t want her to feel insecure, so I gave it a quick examination for structural weakness. As I expected there was nothing wrong at all, but I thought it better not to go inside straightaway as she obviously needed time to herself. Instead, therefore, I waited around while the pale afternoon light began to fade.
This was a time of day I’d always enjoyed, when I could watch the horizon being gradually encroached by gloom. The air felt slightly warmer than usual, suggesting that the wind had veered a little. A glance at the weathercock told the same story. The vane had been pointing steadfastly west-south-west ever since we’d fixed it to the roof. Now, however, it had swung towards Simon Painter’s house. In former times this would have allowed the futile clanging of a bell to drift into our hearing. Lately, of course, there was nothing but the moan of the wind, which at last appeared to be losing some of its harshness. There was less sand being borne along with it than usual, and I glanced idly towards the house to see if any needed clearing away. As I did so a distant movement caught my eye. It was far away to the north, where a dense bank of clouds was settling down for the night. I peered into the dimness, trying to work out what I’d seen. Then, after a few more moments had passed, I spied a remote and solitary figure wandering slowly from east to west.
10
Eventually the morning came
‘What’s silly about it?’ I enquired.
‘It’s all silly! Look at it! Sticking up in the middle of nowhere, miles from anyone else!’
‘But that’s why it’s so perfect!’
‘You really believe that, don’t you?’ she said. ‘You really think you’re living some sort of enviable existence. That’s the reason you keep going over to Simon’s all the time: you just can’t accept that he could ever dream of moving away. Oh no, there can’t be anywhere better than here because this is the centre of the world! Everyone else must be wrong! How can they not want to live on a cold, windy and desolate plain, in a silly little house of tin where you have to shovel sand every morning and bolt the door to stop it flying open?’
Suddenly Mary Petrie stopped in her tracks and faced me.
‘I’ll tell you why you’re here,’ she said. ‘You’re here because you think it makes you different. You think this silly little tinpot life of yours, this self-imposed isolation, makes you more interesting than other people. Don’t you? Eh? You’re convinced that if everybody had the chance then they too would live in a house built entirely from tin. You can’t see that all you’re doing is playing, the same as Simon, Steve and Philip were playing before they grew out of it! You’re playing at being a loner who can get by without anyone else. That’s why you cut yourself off like some recluse! You couldn’t find a cabin in a canyon so you chose this place instead. A gleaming, grey, two-storey edifice with a sloping roof and a tin-plate chimney! You believe it’s a fortress, but I’ll tell you something: it’s tinny and it’s temporary and one of these days it’s going to fall down about your ears!’
When she’d finished speaking she stood glaring at me with her hands on her hips and her eyes ablaze.
I waited a moment and then said, ‘So you don’t like my corrugated dwelling?’
Mary Petrie sighed. ‘You still don’t understand,’ she said. ‘What I mean is, it’s not where you are that counts but who you’re with.’
‘Does that mean I shouldn’t go to Simon Painter’s any more?’
‘Of course not, but try to pay me some attention too.’
‘Alright then.’
Her look softened. She sighed again and turned towards the house. I watched as she walked the remaining distance before disappearing inside, then spent a few minutes pondering what she’d said. The gist of it, as far as I could gather, was that the whole place was on the verge of collapse. Obviously I didn’t want her to feel insecure, so I gave it a quick examination for structural weakness. As I expected there was nothing wrong at all, but I thought it better not to go inside straightaway as she obviously needed time to herself. Instead, therefore, I waited around while the pale afternoon light began to fade.
This was a time of day I’d always enjoyed, when I could watch the horizon being gradually encroached by gloom. The air felt slightly warmer than usual, suggesting that the wind had veered a little. A glance at the weathercock told the same story. The vane had been pointing steadfastly west-south-west ever since we’d fixed it to the roof. Now, however, it had swung towards Simon Painter’s house. In former times this would have allowed the futile clanging of a bell to drift into our hearing. Lately, of course, there was nothing but the moan of the wind, which at last appeared to be losing some of its harshness. There was less sand being borne along with it than usual, and I glanced idly towards the house to see if any needed clearing away. As I did so a distant movement caught my eye. It was far away to the north, where a dense bank of clouds was settling down for the night. I peered into the dimness, trying to work out what I’d seen. Then, after a few more moments had passed, I spied a remote and solitary figure wandering slowly from east to west.
10
Eventually the morning came
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