Love Over Scotland - Alexander Hanchett Smith [107]
“What if I know that what they are saying is just wrong? I cannot stand by and let people deceive you.”
For a moment Domenica said nothing. This was going to be difficult, she feared, and a measure of tact was required. “Well, how about this, Ling?” she said. “You can tell me exactly what somebody says. Then, afterwards, you can tell me what you think they should have said. In that way we can keep the two things separate.”
Ling smiled. “That is a very good idea,” he said. “You can hear what the vulgar people say first; then you can get the truth from me.”
Preparations for Paris 223
Domenica nodded enthusiastically. But she had noted, again, the use of the term “vulgar people”, the expression used by Mrs Choo earlier, when they had discussed orchids. This was obviously a literal translation from the local Chinese dialect. Unless, of course, Ling thought that the people of the village were truly vulgar. That was always a possibility.
“Tell me, Ling,” she said. “What do you think of these local people?”
“I despise them, of course,” he said evenly, as if that were the only possible answer. “Why do you ask?”
Domenica left it at that. She had talked enough that morning, and she told Ling that she would like to take a small walk around the village, just by herself, to get her bearings. He left her then, and after a refreshing drink of fruit juice, she set off for a stroll round the periphery of the village. After a while, she came to a path, and she followed this, assuming that it would lead to the sea.
Halfway down the path there was a small clearing off to one side, and in this clearing there was a large, solitary tree. Domenica hesitated. It was very still, and she felt vaguely uneasy, as if she were somewhere she should not be. She looked about her. On either side of her, the jungle rose, a high green wall, lush and impenetrable. One could not see far into that, she thought, and if one could, what would one see? She turned, and stared at the tree in its clearing. She had noticed something under it – a marker of some sort – and she went to investigate. It was a grave, a simple, untended grave, at the head of which a small board had been placed on a stake and fixed into the ground.
She bent to read the inscription on the wooden board. HERE
LIES AN ANT, it said.
72. Preparations for Paris
“My goodness, Bertie!” said Irene. “Your little diary is very full these days. Let’s think of what we have. In fact, let’s play a little 224 Preparations for Paris
game. Mummy will list the things you have to do in Italian, and you can translate. How about that?”
Bertie, sitting at the kitchen table in the Pollock flat in Scotland Street, his legs not quite reaching the floor yet, sighed.
“If you want to, Mummy.”
“Allora,” said Irene. “In primo luogo: Tutti insieme appassion- atamente! ”
Bertie looked puzzled. “Cosa? ” he asked. Irene smiled, and repeated herself carefully. “Si, Bertie: Tutti insieme appassionatamente! Do you know what that means? Tutti
– we know that word, don’t we, Bertie? Tutti frutti! You know what that means.”
“All fruits,” said Bertie.
“Bravo! Allora, if tutti means all, what about insieme? A nice little word that, Bertie. Very useful. No? Well, it means together, doesn’t it, Bertie? You should have known that by now. But no matter. So . . .”
“All together passionately,” said Bertie. “What’s that got to do with me, Mummy?”
Irene raised a finger. “Well, Bertie,” she said, “that’s what The Sound of Music is called in Italian. Yes! That’s what they call it. Isn’t that interesting? But let’s move on to the second thing.”
Bertie was silent. He was thinking of the problems that lay ahead with the school production of The Sound of Music, in which he was to play Captain von Trapp. The fact that he had been chosen for this role was bound to lead to conflict with Tofu –
he was sure of that – and Bertie had no desire for conflict, particularly with a friend. Tofu was not much of a friend, but he was all that Bertie had.
“In secondo luogo,” said Irene brightly.