Iain Banks Whit

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to visit us, and he has done so for each Festival. He had a surface
presentability and heartiness which proved brittle and easily broken;
underneath was desolation and loneliness. I think he might have rejoined us
and even come back to stay in the
Community, but he had too many ties in the north of England by then, and would
have felt uprooted and alien wherever he went, and - by whatever algebra of
longing and belonging he applied to his situation -
had decided to remain with his chosen allegiance rather than his original
persuasion.
The last time he had been here had been for the Festival of Love four years
ago, when he had told me frankly he was looking for a wife (but did not find
one). I'd assumed - indeed I'd been quite certain at the time - that he was
joking when he'd asked me if I would marry him. We'd both laughed then, and I
am still sure he was only kidding, but now he was on his way here, was he not?
'I come for her,' he'd said. For whom? For me? Morag, maybe? Somebody
else? More to the point, why? And at whose behest?
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I held Sophi like a drowning man holds a life-belt, so that I squeezed her and
made her grunt and mutter. She stirred in my arms, not quite waking. I
relaxed, content with the tactile reassurance that she was there. It seemed I
could feel the world spinning around me, out of control, meaningless, mad and
dangerous, and she was the only thing I had to hold on to.
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all
The sound of the toilet flushing came from along the landing. I tried to turn
the noise into a drain for my swirling thoughts, consigning my confusions,
woes and fears to the same watery emptying and so leaving my head empty and
ready for the sleep my body craved. But then the image struck me as absurd,
and I
found myself shaking my head in the darkness, chiding myself for such tortured
foolishness. I was even able to raise the hint of a smile.
Sleep came for me eventually, after many more reviewings of the long, involved
and fractious day, and many more attempts to stop thinking about all the
mysteries surrounding me.
I dreamed of a wide, unsteady landscape of shaking bed clothes, and pursuit by
something I could not see, forever just over the quivering horizon, but
terrifyingly near and threatening. I was vaguely aware of disturbance and a
warm kiss, but when I awoke properly Sophi was long gone and I was alone with
an already half-aged day of brightness and showers.
*
Mr W had gone too. I used the Woodbeans' bath and made myself some toast and
tea. I read the note - in
Sophi's hand - that Grandmother Yolanda had left for me the previous day,
giving me the number for her hotel in Stirling and telling me that she had
booked a twin room so I was welcome to come and stay. She'd detailed her
flight number and departure time today, too. I glanced at the clock on the
mantelpiece; she would be at the airport by now.
I let a shower pass then walked back to the Community under dripping trees.
I nodded to a few Brothers and Sisters, who nodded back - warily, it seemed to
me. I went straight to the office in the mansion house, where Sister
Bernadette sat typing slowly at the desk by the door.
'Sister Isis!' she said, looking confused. She stood, smiling nervously.
'Sister Bernadette,' I said. 'Is Allan about?'
'He's with the Founder,' she said. 'Shall I ask him& ?'
'Please.'
She turned to go. 'Oh,' I said, 'and do you know where my kit-bag is?'
'I think Allan said& I'll look, Sister Isis,' she said, and went quickly out
the door and across the hall.
I glanced at the letter she had been typing. It looked like a request for
money; it was addressed to Aunt
Brigit, the one in the Millennialist cult in Idaho. There was a pile of
similar letters on one side of the typewriter, and a long list of names and
addresses in an old school exercise book on the other, with ticks
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all down to Brigit's name. The list didn't seem to be alphabetical. I
glanced up and down the list, then found
Cousin Morag's name just as I heard footsteps out in the hall. Morag's old [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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