Ruins by Brian Aldiss

Author:Brian Aldiss [Aldiss, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2020-12-08T17:00:00+00:00

Restorations

‘I shall never be able to look back on the funeral with any pleasure,’ Rose said, gloomily. ‘This just about ruins the day.’

She had been standing beside the car, the poor defunct car, with her arms akimbo; now she climbed into the back seat and closed the door firmly, not slamming it but shutting it loudly enough to express a finite but not negligible amount of disgust.

Billing made no answer. He stood where he was, hands in pockets in front of the car, regarding the scenery.

The stretch of road was deserted, apart from an occasional lorry growling by. They were stuck somewhere north of London. No building was in sight. Trees lined the road, with fields beyond. They were waiting on the northbound side of the road, in a lay-by into which they had pushed the Austin. Tall trees, firs and ruinous pines a century old, formed themselves up into untidy woodland beside them. It was almost dark. Minute by minute the air thickened.

The breakdown people should arrive at any time. Hugh did not permit himself to say the words, knowing that he had spoken the sentence aloud before. It would only annoy further the woman he wanted to console. But the garage was being a long while coming. He had had to walk three miles to a phone box to summon them.

He made an effort now to stay in touch with Rose, strolling over to her window and saying, in firmly cheerful tones, ‘I’m sorry, I’m no good at dealing with car engines. I expect it’s the armature again.’

Rose remained looking down. ‘I know, Hugh. You’re the dreamer.’ She had flattened all nuances from the remark, so that only the words remained, spiritless between them.

Billing turned his back, resuming a contemplation of the roadside copse. It was a chilly February day and the sun had already set behind the trees. While the man and woman waited by the car, the hectic colours of day’s end had died from the sky. Now only muted tones remained: shades of oyster, lemon, pearl and then, nearer the horizon, a series of greys and tones neither grey nor blue. The rough trunks of the trees presented themselves in silhouette against this backdrop, providing an avenue towards the distance.

It seemed to Billing that from this arrangement of colours and space something spoke to him, addressed him gravely yet comfortingly. He felt an answer arising in himself. Outwardly he was mute, his usual unkempt self contained within the dark suit he had bought especially for Gladys Lee’s funeral.

He thought, I’m a funny fellow. I wonder if Rose feels all the sensations I do? He was too shy to ask her directly, suspecting that the answer could be deduced – the answer he had found throughout life, that no one felt things as he did. Of course, old Gladys had done, no denying that. But she had become quite gaga towards the end.

It grew darker yet. He watched the great drama through the trees as if it would never happen again.

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