Love Over Scotland - Alexander Hanchett Smith [72]
The small party followed a track that led away from the village. The track was narrow, but was wider than a footpath and had obviously been used by vehicles. There was white, sandy soil underfoot, and here and there this had been churned up by the wheels of a vehicle. There were other signs of human passage too – a discarded tin can, roughly opened and rusting; a fruitjuice carton, waxy and crumpled; the print of a sandal on the soil.
Trees grew on either side of the path. These, together with an undergrowth of creeping vines and thick-leaved shrubs, made for a barrier that was dense, if not entirely impenetrable. It would be easy to lose oneself in such surroundings, thought Domenica; one might wander about in circles for days, unable to see any reference points, unable even to work out the direction of the sun’s movement. At moments such as this, she mused, dependence on one’s guide reminded one of the mutual reliance of human existence. In large numbers, in towns and cities, we forget that without the help of others we are fragile, threatened creatures. But the moment that support is removed, then the reality of our condition becomes apparent. We are all one step from being lost.
After walking for half an hour, Ling called a halt and they sat down on the trunk of an uprooted tree. Domenica reached for her water bottle and took several swigs. The water, which had kept cool in the air-conditioned interior of Edward Hong’s car, was now tepid – the temperature of the soupy air about them – and it bore the chemical taste of the purification tablets she had dropped into it. The boy, who had been uncomplainingly carrying Domenica’s suitcase, shifting it from hand to hand every so often, was given a small sugared bun, which Ling had extracted from a packet secured to his belt. Domenica was offered one of these buns too, but declined.
“It must be very difficult living in such isolated conditions,”
she said to Ling. “I suppose they have to bring their supplies all the way down this track.”
150 A View of a House
Ling shook his head. “This track is not used a great deal,”
he said. “The people in the village we are going to do not come this way very often. They have boats, you see.”
Domenica nodded. Of course, the village for which they were heading was on the coast, or close enough to it.
“Where shall I be staying?” she asked. She had been told that accommodation would be arranged, but Edward Hong had not gone into details. All he had said was: “You will probably be somewhat uncomfortable, but I suppose that you anthropologists are used to that sort of thing.” And then he had shuddered; not too noticeably, but he had shuddered.
Ling wiped his brow. “You will stay in the village guest house,”
he said. “It is a small place, just two rooms, which is used for any visitors to the village. It is clean and it is cool too. There is a big tree beside it. That will give you shade.” He paused, and smiled. “You will be very happy there.”
“Oh, I’m sure I shall,” said Domenica. His description of her accommodation had cheered her slightly. A small, cool house in the shade sounded as if it would be perfect.
“And there is another house beside it,” Ling went on. “The woman from that house will be your friend. She speaks a little English – not much – but a little. And she is making her sons learn English too. They are just boys, but they will speak to you too.”
Domenica liked the sound of that. Ling made it seem no more than moving to a new suburb – a suburb with friendly neighbours.
“This woman,” she asked. “She’s married to . . .” She paused, unsure as to whether the term pirate seemed a bit extreme, ungenerous perhaps.
“To a pirate,” said Ling. “Yes, her husband is a big pirate. He is called Ah, and her name is Zhi-Whei. They have called the boys after ships which . . . which he seized. The older one is called Freighter and the other is called Tanker. They have Chinese names, too, but that is what they are