Dust on the Paw by Robin Jenkins

Author:Robin Jenkins [Jenkins, Robin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780857901538
Publisher: Birlinn

Sixteen

LAN and Harold Moffatt were in the sitting room after dinner, she sketching, and he brooding with a glass of whisky in his hand, when the telephone rang.

‘I’ll get it,’ he said and, heaving himself up, waddled out.

She thought that in the past two or three weeks he had got fatter; his stomach was like a man’s twice his age, and his rump was like a woman’s. Did it represent in some way a diminution of her love, that she should now see him as physically grosser than before? Could a feeling of guilt, such as had been festering in him ever since the night of the Club dance, coarsen the body as well as the mind? Her own fingers, steadfastly drawing, were as delicate and skilful as ever, and this old man’s age, seen that afternoon as she walked through the bazaar, was not only as good as anything she had ever done, but also, with its gap-toothed, bearded grin, represented a compassion so tender that she was still new to it, as a mother was to a newborn child. That Harold’s concern for Mrs Mohebzada, and for Laura Johnstone too, sprang as much from humanity as from principle, she now not only saw but felt; and also that his fears for their own children, as yet unconceived but now permitted, were based on love. As he had put it himself fondly, she had at last ventured out of her temple; but he had not seemed confident that she would stay out long.

In the hall he was chatting to Maud Mossaour. Suddenly his voice became eager. ‘Did you? Yes, of course I’d like to see it very much. No, she hasn’t. At least not as far as I know, and I don’t think she’d keep it from us. Yes, but she’s still sorry for him, I think. Why, God knows; he can look after himself. I heard a rumour that he’s to be promoted to principal of his school. There’s to be a change at the Ministry itself. Rumour has it that Naim’s taking it over. I know he’s always fancied himself as an educationist and a leader of youth. We’ll be seeing our friend Wahab shoot up. He’s by way of being one of Naim’s brown-eyed boys. Yes, very good, Maud. I’ll let you know my verdict.’

He returned to the sitting room, flat-footed in his native sandals, and took a sip of his whisky.

‘You would gather that was Maud,’ he said. ‘She’s had a reply from Miss Johnstone, and is sending it over. According to her, we’ve got nothing to be afraid of. From the tone of her letter, there are no flies on our Laura. When she sees the number of flies here, she’ll be shocked to the bottom of her antiseptic little soul, and she’ll rush away from the carcass that attracts them. I mean, this bloody, stinking, corrupt country.’

She knew that the violence of his words was caused by his love of Afghanistan.

He came over and looked down at her drawing.

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