Love Over Scotland - Alexander Hanchett Smith [71]
appearance, but everything else seemed neat and well-kept. A small group of children stood on the steps of the nearest house, staring at them, while a woman, wearing a red sarong, attended to some task on the veranda. On one side of the village stood a small shop, on the front of which was pinned a sign advertising Coca-Cola. The shop-keeper, standing outside, clad in a dirty vest and a pair of loose-fitting green trousers, seemed to be talking into a mobile telephone, gesticulating furiously with his free hand.
“Village life,” said Edward Hong, pointing. “Children. Dogs. A shop-keeper in a dirty vest. It holds no romantic associations for me, I’m afraid.”
Domenica laughed. “I don’t romanticise these things either,”
she said. “Most anthropologists know too much about such places to romanticise them. I’m sure that life for these people is thoroughly tedious. They’d love to live in Malacca – I’m sure of it.”
“And yet they are better off out here,” said Edward Hong.
“They may not know it, but they are. Wouldn’t you rather live here, in relative comfort, than in some hovel in town – for the privilege of which you would be working all hours of the day in some sweatshop?”
“I don’t know,” said Domenica. “I just don’t know.”
Ling now reappeared, accompanied by a teenage boy, bareshouldered, a printed cloth wound about his waist. He pointed to Domenica’s large suitcase, which had been taken out of the car by the chauffeur, and the boy cheerfully picked it up.
“We must go,” said Ling. “It’s at least two hours’ walk from here. Do you have your water bottle?”
Domenica answered by pointing to her small rucksack. Then she turned to Edward Hong and shook his hand. “You have been more than kind, dear Mr Hong,” she said. Edward Hong lowered his head in a small bow. “I shall miss your company,” he said.
“And my daughter will too.”
“I shall think of her playing Chopin,” said Domenica. “If the company of the pirates becomes a trifle wearisome, I shall think of her playing her Chopin.”
148 Goodbye to Edward Hong M.A. (Cantab.) They said their final farewells, and then the small party set off, led by Ling, with Domenica in the middle, and the teenage boy bringing up the rear. Edward Hong waved from the car, and Domenica waved back. She knew that she would miss his urbane company; indeed she knew that there was a great deal that she was already missing, and would miss even more over the coming months. She missed her conversations with Angus Lordie. She missed looking out of her window onto Scotland Street. She missed her morning crossword in The Scotsman. And when would she next have a cup of foaming cappuccino and a freshly-baked croissant?
I shall not think of any of this, she told herself. I shall be thoroughly professional. I am an anthropologist, after all, heir to a long tradition of endurance in the field. If I had wanted a quiet and comfortable life, then I would have become something else. The furrow I have chosen to plough is a lonely one, involving hardship, deprivation, and danger. Danger! She had forgotten about Ling’s almost throwaway comment about the Belgian anthropologist, the one who had preceded her to the village and who was now buried there. She had meant to ask Ling about this, but the direction of the conversation had changed and she had not had the opportunity. Besides, she did not want to give Edward the impression that she was frightened. If she did, then she knew that he would fret for her, and she did not want that.
She looked at Ling’s back as he walked in front of her. A large patch of sweat had formed between his shoulder blades, making a dark stain on his shirt. Such circumstances as these, she thought, remind us of just what we are: salt and water, for the most part.
“Ling,” she said. “That Belgian anthropologist you mentioned. Could you tell me more about him?”
Ling glanced back at her, but kept on walking. “We don’t like to talk about him,” he said. “Do you mind?”
Domenica was quick to say that she did not. But his comment puzzled her and, if she