44 Scotland Street - Alexander McCall Smith [124]
258
Poetry of the Tang Dynasty
He paused. Then turning to face Pat, he addressed her gravely: I look across this street of stone,
This street which takes a country’s name, To the house with lights, where a gentle companion Prepares her jug of wine, brings to mind
The hours that we have spent together
In that quiet room; each stair that lies
Between ourselves and her, will raise the heart a little, Will tidy the unhappiness from your courtyard, Will make you smile again. My unhappy friend; I tell you so; I tell you this is true.
He finished speaking, and bowed slightly to Pat. “My Chinese poem,” he said. “Not as good, perhaps, as that which might have been written by Li Po, if he were with us, which he is not, but capable perhaps of preparing you for an evening with Domenica and myself and conversation about things that really matter. And if, incidentally, this is balm for your undoubted unhappiness, then I shall consider myself to have done no more than any neighbour should do. N’est-ce-pas, Cyril ?”
91. God Looks Down on Belgium
“And where,” asked Domenica Macdonald, as she opened her door to them, “is your malodorous dog?”
Angus Lordie seemed not to be taken aback by what struck Pat as a less than warm welcome. But Pat’s concern proved to be misplaced. The relationship between her neighbour, Domenica, and her newly-acquired friend, Angus Lordie, was an easy one, and the banter they exchanged was good-natured. In the course of the evening, Angus Lordie was to describe Domenica – to her face – as a “frightful blue-stocking”, and in return she informed him that he was a “well-known failure”, a “roué” and
“a painter of dubious talent”.
“If you are referring to Cyril,” said Angus Lordie, “he is outside, tied to a railing, enjoying the smells of this odiferous street. He misses such smells in Drummond Place, with its rather better air. He is quite happy.”
Domenica ushered them into her study. “I really am rather pleased that you came to see me,” she said, as she took a half-full bottle of Macallan out of a cupboard. “I’ve been worrying about this fatwa of yours, Angus. Have those dissident Free Presbyterians shown their hand yet?”
Pat remembered the talk about the dissenting Free Presbyterian fatwa imposed upon Angus Lordie as a result of his uncomplimentary portrait of their Moderator. Angus Lordie had not mentioned anything more about it, and certainly his demeanour was not that of one labouring under a fatwa.
“Oh that,” said Angus Lordie, accepting the generous glass of whisky which Domenica had poured for him. “Yes, they’ve done one or two things to signal their displeasure, but I think that the whole thing will probably blow over.”
“And what precisely have they done?” asked Domenica.
“A group of them came and sang Gaelic psalms outside my door,” he replied. “You know those awful dirges that they go in for? Well, we had a bit of that. I went out and thanked them 260
God Looks Down on Belgium
afterwards and they looked a bit disconcerted. They mumbled something about how I would hear from them again, but they didn’t seem to have much heart for it.”
“It’s so difficult to sustain a fatwa,” said Domenica. “One has to be so enthusiastic. I’m not sure if I could find the moral energy myself.”
“Cyril howled when he heard the Gaelic psalms,” said Angus Lordie. “And they thought that he was joining in. He sounded so like them! Quite uncanny! Of course he does come from Lochboisdale and he’s probably heard Gaelic psalms before. Perhaps it made him feel homesick.”
“Oh well,” said Domenica. “These things all add to the gaiety of nations. That’s the nice thing about life in Scotland. It’s hardly dull. I’m immensely relieved that I don’t live in a dull country.”
“Such as?” asked Pat. Her gap year had taken her to Australia and then, briefly on to New Zealand. New Zealand was perhaps somewhat quiet while Australia had proved to be far from dull; at least for her.
“Oh, Belgium,” said Domenica. “Belgium is extremely dull.”
Angus Lordie nodded his head